


Polaris

by Noscere



Category: RWBY, XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, XCOM: Enemy Unknown (2012), xcom 2
Genre: Alien Abduction, Alternate Universe - Alien Invasion, F/F, F/M, Genetic abominations, Grimm (RWBY), Guerilla Warfare, time to kick alien butt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 117,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noscere/pseuds/Noscere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Salem's world-conquering activities have summoned a threat from beyond the stars.</p><p>On a distant world, Central Officer Bradford has received some unusual intel. With a few simple souls, humanity just might have a chance of taking back their world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deneb (I May Fall)

They numbered twenty as they stood before the red-black swirling portal – Beacon professors standing next to specialists of the Atlas army and their former students. They had no other choice.

The Grimm had launched all out assaults on the remaining kingdoms of the world – some spat hot plasma from the skies, skitting along the wake of Nevermores, pitting the ground below in dark craters. Every day, more and more civilians disappeared to Dust-knew-where. Commanders and Councilors and Presidents signed over their freedom to the strange lieutenants of Salem's rule: black gooey humanoids that were twice as tall as any human or Faunus. Huntsmen were stretched thin - they could not keep up with the flood of monsters drawn to the panicking and despairing civilians like vultures to a rotting carcass.

And that was in the still-occupied parts of Remnant. Bone-plated, insectoid monsters scurried through the abandoned streets of Vale, stabbing anything that moved with their three-foot long talons. Strange, humanoid black creatures crawled in the shadows of Shade Academy, sending purple arcs of energy that panicked whoever they touched - or worse, brought the dead that lay in the streets back to life.

Every hour that passed meant another beacon collapsed to the darkness. Humanity and Faunus-kind alike were fighting for their survival.

Then, Uncle Qrow had discovered a single lead. A portal, created by his sister, that led straight to the beast’s lair.

“ _We cut off the snake’s head_ ,” Aunt Raven had said, “ _and the Grimm fall with it._ ”

 

And so they stood. The remains of team STRQ and JNPR, Professor Port and Oobleck, team RWBY and SSSN, and General Ironwood and Specialist Winter Schnee.

Ruby couldn’t see her father or her professors – they had already gone ahead, to set up the ambush. General Ironwood and Winter were on the other side of the portal, guided by Uncle Qrow and Aunt Raven. The woman responsible for all their misery was penned in like a deer by a pack of wolves.

Everyone knew that death had its bony fingers on their shoulders.

They had already lost so much.

They had only their lives to give.

 

Ruby gripped the hilt of Crescent Rose and stared down the dark-robed woman lounge in its maw.

“Sweet children,” Salem said, “are you tired? Let go of your fleeting hope, your aspirations. It is time to rest.”

Beside her, Jaune shook.

“That’s her.” His aura flickered goldenrod yellow across his skin. “She killed Pyrrha. I can sense Pyrrha's Aura in her body.”

Salem’s hollow eyes turned towards the knight. “Death is merciful, little one, when the worst is yet to come.”

“This ends here!” Weiss planted Myrtenaster in the crystalline earth. A white glyph spread out from her sword’s point. Weiss yelled – the earth shook, sending sharp crystals flying into the air – and a white-blue dragon Grimm raced out of the glyph. Winds buffeted Salem’s robes back as the summoned Grimm took to the skies.

“We’re taking our world back,” Ruby said, raising her voice over the winds’ howl. “I don’t care what reasons you have! We want to live! And we won’t fall here!”

Salem only shook her head. Black energy pooled around her palms.

“I could spare you a world of suffering. Do not say I was not merciful,” she said, and cast the energy out.

A golden shield burst into life before Ruby, as Jaune sent out his soul’s force. The black energy clashed against the shield and dripped off into pools of Grimm essence.

“Formation!” General Ironwood’s revolved barked time and time again, as Beowolves rose from the sludge, only to take flight as dust. “Schnee!”

“On it!” Winter charged forward, two Beowolves racing by her side.

The glowing summons tore at the portal, opening it further, and the battle began.

 

Time flowed differently where this land of blood-tinged crystals and toxic smog met the plane of green fields and open oceans. Ruby didn’t know if they fought for hours or for mere seconds. Purple tendrils of energy occasionally lanced across the battlefield, but Salem would bat them away and send a jet of Grimm essence at its source.

Professor Port was the first to fall. A Deathstalker had knocked Ren into one of the toxic crystals. Nora was on the other side of the battlefield, sending pink grenades towards the woman who weaved darkness like silk beneath her fingers. The Deathstalker scuttled forwards, pincers clicking in anticipation, before a bloodied Port knocked away one of its massive claws with his weapon.

“Fight another day,” he said, standing before Ren’s prone body.

The golden stinger speared him through the chest.

Ruby didn’t scream or cry – there was no time for grief, not when the world’s fate rode on their shoulders.

More fell – Sage, Nora, General Ironwood, Winter soon after, Uncle Qrow – the last tearing a ragged scream from Raven’s throat. The black-feathered woman unsheathed her massive sword and began tearing through the monstrous inhabitants of this toxic land, as if their essence could bring back her brother.

Time flowed on. The Huntsmen and Huntresses were on their knees, bleeding from every place imaginable. The Grimm were fiercer now – the insectoid monsters were back, but now, they stabbed the bodies of the fallen and summoned more Grimm from those gory depths. Green plasma occasionally pierced the air, sometimes connecting with an arm or a chest. Sometimes, the heroes’ souls deflected the worst of the injuries. Sometimes, another body joined those lying on the poisoned ground.

"Your guardians have failed you," Salem said in the same lilting cadence. She stood in a whirlwind of bullets and blades, deflecting them all with ribbons of darkness that trailed from her hands. "Everything you have built has been torn down before your very eyes. Give up. Sleep."

"We're still here!" Yang swung a fist laden with flames. The black fabric shrouding Salem's body began to burn. "Come on, guys! Don't give up!"

It wasn't enough.

The wolves and soulless rose from the poisoned ground.

Ruby's friends and family died around her.

 

At last, only team RWBY still remained. They were bleeding, they were broken, they were huddled in the sharp grit of crystal fragments and strange Earth, but they still lived.

Yang laughed, the sound sunshine in the red-black air. Her prosthetic arm hung limply from its attachment. “We did good, team.” There was no trace of sarcasm in her sister’s voice. “I’m… I’m so happy I met you guys.”

“This isn’t… the end,” Blake murmured, leaning heavily on Gambol Shroud. Ruby looked at her teammate. The Cat Faunus was staring at the black-robed woman, as if her golden eyes could bore holes into her enemy. “I may fall… but not like this. It won’t be by your hand.”

“Not this place.” Weiss clenched Myrtenaster where she lay on the ground. Tiny glyphs flickered around her fingers. Her eyes sought her partner’s. “Not today. I… I promised you.”

Ruby staggered to her feet, and held Crescent Rose aloft.

“We’re not done,” she said. She slid one last cartridge into Crescent Rose's magazine, fingers slick with blood and quivering. The world quavered before her, but the reaper looked on. Her friends were still here. She had a reason to fight.

“No.” Even Salem seemed drained, as she raised her hands for one final assault. “I’m so sorry, little ones. This is the beginning of the end.”

 

The world exploded in bursts of green plasma.

A web of light flew through the air, puncturing every bit of skin available. Already weakened by blood loss, Ruby slipped into unconsciousness.

As Ruby faded, she could faintly hear a sibilant, echoing voice.

 

_At last… we have found the potential, and already so strong! This world is ripe for our taking. This time, we will ascend…_

 


	2. Operation: Devil's Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We were still calling it a war back then." - Central Officer Bradford, 2015
> 
> February 28, 2015: First contact with extraterrestrial forces. On Earth, an organization springs to the defense of their planet.

The end of the world began in Cologne, Germany. Mysterious canisters plummeted from the sky like shooting stars. But instead of fragmenting into metal shards and rock fragments, green goo spewed from the containers to trap screaming civilians in their webby mass.

Central Officer Bradford’s first introduction to the aliens was mumbled screaming, “ _Mayday, mayday!_ ”, more screaming in German, and then static.

He was ashamed to admit that his first thought was, _Another terrorist attack?_

Bradford shook himself and stared at the giant holographic globe in the XCOM base. None of the people present would even be in the US if it was just another bombing. NASA and other space agencies had detected mysterious objects rapidly approaching the Earth, too big and sophisticated to be meteors. Something new was descending from the stars.

Hours after its activation, the newly-minted Extraterrestrial Combat Unit would see action. A mere ten hours ago, helicopters had shown up to drag Bradford from his base to this hole in the ground. Though most of the chief staff had arrived, XCOM's Commander had not. Until he or she arrived (though it was far more likely to be some hotshot general from a Council Nation that wasn't the States), Bradford was in charge of directing all missions. 

“That was the last transmission, sir,” Dr. Vahlen said, her voice lightly accented with Teutonic tones. The Chief Scientist was from Rhineland, as far as Bradford knew. Information on the chief personnel had been sparse, unless their nation had seen fit to share.

That was the problem these days. People didn’t trust each other. The world's leaders wanted a scalpel, and XCOM would be their blade, but they could barely agree on a surgeon. The governments wouldn't even allow more than four soldiers in their territory at a time. Perhaps in the old days – yes, even during the Cold War, though Bradford had hazy memories of a time people feared the world would end in a nuclear winter – the Earth’s nations would have banded together in solidarity. As it stood, they could only cooperate long enough to activate the XCOM project. And as reports of civilian disappearances trickled in from all over the globe, that would probably soon end.

“Patch me through to Voodoo-Three-One,” Bradford said, turning away from the slowly revolving Hologlobe.

Operation Devil’s Moon was heading to Cologne, Germany, where the first contact had taken place. It had seemed an appropriate name while he was rushing to Mission Control, thinking about how to best arrange XCOM’s forces on their first foray against the aliens.

The four soldiers were strapped into the Skyranger's benches. All bore brand new XCOM gear, a mishmash of currently worn body armor with some improvements from Chief Engineer Shen. Their heads turned to the debriefing screen in the passenger bay.

“You are being deployed to Germany. At 1900 hours Zulu, several unidentified objects fell to Earth. After ruling out the possibility of a downed satellite, we now believe these objects to be…” Bradford shook his head. _Focus._ “…extraterrestrial in nature. Shortly after impact,” he looked over the video feeds of streets filled with flashing red and blue lights, “German officials received reports of mass hysteria and freak weather around one of the impact zones. Then things went dark. At 2100 hours, a chopper carrying a German military recon team went down in the area after they reported being fired on.” He gestured to the soldiers. “As you know, Germany is a member of the Council, and they have requested our assistance. Our mission is to assess the situation on the ground, ascertain the status of the German recon team, and investigate the extraterrestrial objects. Central out.”

The next two hours were silent, as the Skyranger bolted over the Atlantic to Germany. Bradford spent that time relaying incoming information to Delta team, and reviewing requests from the base’s personnel. Whoever the Commander was, they would have their hands full once they arrived.

 _Or their pockets empty_ , he thought with a sour grin as he looked at the prices just to keep the base running. _When did the Council say they’d send funding?_

(Little did he know that within four months, funding would be the least of his worries.)

 

“Central, this is Big Sky. Looks like we found the crash site.”

The huge globe in the heart of XCOM’s Mission Control room disappeared, replaced by a massive blue scan of the AO. The helicopter was aflame, its tail a smoking wreck several feet from its body.

“Roger Voodoo Three-One,” Bradford said. “Any sign of activity?”

“Negative. Nothing’s moving down there.”

“Okay.” Bradford breathed in. Delta team had no experience in field operations. He'd have to guide them through. “Set her down near by.”

The Skyranger landed on the broken pavement. Its rear door hissed open, revealing the streets of Cologne.

Delta 1 and 2 advanced, weapons held at the ready. Delta 1 pointed at the statue standing in the middle of the square. Cars sat abandoned on the sides of the streets, some with doors still flung open. Fires roared left and right, unquenched by firemen who could not reach the scene or by the heavy rain pelting the city. The video  was grainy, but Central could still see dark stains splashed across the pavement, intermingling with pools of rainwater.

The rest of the team left the blood red-lit interior of the Skyranger. They advanced towards the statue, fingers itching on triggers. Thunder boomed.

“Central,” Delta 1 said, “you getting all this?”

“Copy that, Delta Squad. First things first – let’s get you out of the open and into cover. Whatever did this could still be out there.”

Central quickly scanned the area. Some cars still glowed with fire – they could blow any minute.

“Delta 1, take point. Take cover behind that debris directly in front of you.”

Delta 1 crept forward. Tim West, an offering from Canada’s army, huddled behind a pile of rubble that had once been part of a building’s facade. The soldier stared down the statue – in daylight, it might have looked proud and fierce, sword held aloft to defend its territory. In the shadow of night, it loomed overhead like an executioner.

“Good. Now advance to the vehicle nearby. Delta 2, your turn. Move up to the debris.”

Bradford silently cursed the world’s state of affairs. Sure, send a bunch of rookies – soldiers who hadn’t even seen combat outside of training exercises – to defend the world. The rise of sudden, terror-inducing attacks from humanity’s own had increased tensions between nations. Slowly but surely, even closely knit countries – France and Germany of the EU, America and Canada of North America – drifted into self-contained bubbles. XCOM needed humanity’s best and brightest. What they got were far too few soldiers who had seen the battlefield (and none of them had yet arrived from their home countries), and too many soldiers who needed experience and fast.

“That thing isn’t going to offer me much cover,” Delta 2 said. Sergio Ruiz, of Argentina. Previous gang affiliations. The Central Officer wasn’t enthused at the prospect of Council Nations handing off their dirty laundry to XCOM. What a convenient excuse: get rid of trouble makers, and focus at defense at home.

“It’s better than nothing. There’s full cover straight ahead.”

“The statue, sir?” Delta 2 asked.

“Advance to that position.”

Delta 2 moved. The soldier cautiously poked his head and torso from behind the statue, offering Bradford a clear view of the street ahead. Bradford briefly thought he saw a wolf with bone plates covering its skull sprint past. He blinked. The wolf disappeared.

“Don’t see any movement,” Delta 2 reported.

Bradford nodded. He was acutely aware that every eye in Mission Control was focused on him. “Delta 3, move to that vehicle dead ahead.”

Yegor Lebedev, of Ukraine, sprinted behind the dark red car and dropped to a crouch. “Central, I have movement. 30 meters north of my position. Police vehicle."

Bradford squinted. Mysterious lights danced off the red car, causing weird reflections on screen. The heavy rain didn’t help. He tapped a note into his tablet – _get helmet cams for all soldiers. Body cams have limited view._

“Roger. Proceed to the next vehicle for a better vantage point.”

Delta 3 dashed behind a dark grey car. Still no sign of the source of movement.

“Delta 4, go check it out. It’s a long way from your position, and there’s no available cover between here and there, so you better double-time it.”

Natsuki Yoshida, from Japan, hummed deep in her throat. She raced behind an upturned camper van. Some of the strange goo from overhead scans dripped down the vehicle’s roof. Lightning flashed, sending ghostly shadows dancing over the camera. The world disappeared as Delta 4 wiped her body camera and looked out from the shelter of the camper.

“Holy hell…”

Bradford gave up on attempting to discern the world of Delta team. “What do you see, Delta 4?”

“Looks like one of the recon team, sir.” The video feed came back, revealing a man prone on the ground and a massive blood splatter painting the nearby wall. Blood fanned over the heavily armored man’s face like a monstrous eagle’s wings. He gurgled. Chunks of tissue dripped out his mouth. “It looks like something…”

“HILFE…” a strange, distorted voice crackled over the radio.

Delta 4 scuffled, armor scraping against metal.

“Is that your man, Delta 4?” Bradford asked.

“Negative, sir.” For a soldier who had never seen combat before, Delta 4’s voice was calm and measured. “That’s someone else…”

“HILFE…”

The voice was back, bellowing like a cow.

Bradford stifled a smile the Delta team couldn’t see. Cows and aliens. The meat of conspiracy theories all over the world, coming together in Germany. The Internet must be exploding – or it would be, if German officials weren’t working to stifle the flood of news.

He turned to face the Chief Scientist beside him. “Dr. Vahlen, what’s he saying?”

The Chief Scientist did not share his levity.

“He is saying… help me.”

Any hint of smile instantly died.

“That radio transmission is coming from somewhere north of the squad’s current position.” Delta Two stood up, giving Bradford a view of a cobble-stone street with long-unused train tracks set into the road. An abandoned police car sat snugly against the empty and dark windows of an apartment block. Yet another one of those strange machines, plates of some silvery material projecting from its center like a spider’s legs, sat before the apartments. Its core glowed green, flickering like a flame in the heavy rain. The odd pile of rubble still burned unquenched – wait, was that a body in the flames? “Based on its strength, probably from inside a structure.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Delta, advance and infiltrate that building. And remember – stay in cover.”

 

Delta 1 dashed over to the cover of a minivan. Delta 2 went to the cover of a bus shelter behind the statue of the warrior. Central couldn’t read the German script, but it seemed to advertise some sort of war movie with a girl on fire.

Bradford hoped that wasn’t a warning for the mission to come.

“Central, I got a lot of blood here.”

“Roger. See where it’s coming from.”

“Hope it’s not a Merkel hissyfit,” Delta 3 muttered.

Delta 1 laughed, but it didn’t hide the shudder in his voice. “Dude, I know you don’t like politics–”

“Focus on the mission, soldiers,” Bradford said. 

“Sorry, sir.” He heard Delta 3 snap off a salute. “Won’t happen again."

Delta 2 entered, his boots splashing through puddles tinted red. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the bus shelter. Something skittered, like high heels clacking against the wet pavement. Delta 2 briefly turned to look outside, then faced the bus shelter’s interior.

 _Wir hatten hier Spaß nicht?,_ the blood-splattered poster read. Right next to it, a man was propped up against a bench. His intestines dangled from his body, a slow river of flesh that still slid out, steaming slightly in the cold air. He sat in a puddle of black goo – coagulated blood, maybe. Some chunks of bone floated in the goo.

“Central. I think I just found another one of the recon team. Or what’s left of him.” Delta 2 retched as he exited the shelter and scanned the road. The camera briefly froze on a glimpse of Cologne’s metro map, before the emptiness of the city block returned. “But this doesn’t make sense… looks like he’s been dead for a week.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Delta 3 said.

On her tablet, Dr. Vahlen rewound the video feed to inspect the corpse.

“Saw enough of those in my gang days,” Delta 2 replied. “I’m an expert by now.”

“Even more perplexing is the cause of death,” Dr. Vahlen said as she compared the picture to scans of the human body. “It appears that he was eviscerated when something burst out of him from the inside."

“Wonderful. Anime is real,” Delta 4 muttered.

“More like the 1979 Alien,” Delta 1 said.

“Yeah, well, you guys better hope we don’t have chestbursters around.” Delta 3 coughed. “Nasty little fucks. Hey, did you hear that?”

Bradford listened. There was only the pattering of rain against cars and body armor.

“That’s just rain. You realize we’re basically reenacting Alien, right?” Delta 4 asked. “Don’t Kotodama us."

The Central Officer cleared his throat.

“Sorry, sir,” Delta 4 said.

“Sir, I have visual on the object,” Delta 3 said. “Permission to approach.”

 

He scanned the feed. “It’s the only cover between you and that building. Permission granted.” Delta 3 scurried into the glow of the object. “Talk to me, soldier. What is it?"

“I’m no scientist, but I can confirm that it’s no satellite.”

“Roger,” Central said. “All right, Delta squad, you’re almost to the building. Keep moving. Let’s get inside. Delta 1, let’s take a look through that window in front of you.”

“Sweet God, please don’t get my face shot off,” Delta 1 murmured as he backed up against the brick wall. The rubble pile to his right shot hungry tongues of flame at his armor. “In position,” he said louder, “looks clear.”

“Copy that. Get in there, and get to cover.” Central restrained a sigh as Delta 1 burst through the window, shards of glass flying around his form like a swarm of angry bees, and huddled behind a pile of shipping boxes. Well. There went any semblance of stealth.

“Delta 2, that door’s in our way. Take it down.”

“Solid copy.” Delta 2 kicked down the door. The bang echoed around what seemed to be a warehouse, with its tiled floor and corrugated ceiling. He took cover behind a forklift.

Delta 3 rushed after him, taking cover behind a pile of crates. A spotlight shone down its position atop a shipping crate. “Central, we have eyes on the target. He’s armed.”

“Copy Delta 3. OK everyone, get into position nearby, but do not approach. Doctor, see if you can communicate with him. Tell him to drop his weapon.”

“I will try. Delta 3, I will be taking over your radio.”

“We are so dead,” he thought he heard Delta 4 say as she burst through another window.

Dr. Vahlen cleared her throat. “Hallo. Können Sie mich hoeren? Wir sind hier um ihnen zu helfen. Bitte lassen sie Ihre Waffen fallen.”

“Helfe…” The man's voice echoed around the warehouse. It gave the impression of thousands of pained men, all begging for help, as if Delta team had walked straight into the pits of Hell instead of a factory warehouse.

“He appears to be in shock,” Dr. Vahlen said, as Delta 2 moved to his teammate’s position.

“Keep your eyes open, people.” Central rubbed his eyes. “I don’t like the look of this.”

The team arrayed themselves to keep the man in their sights. Weapons bobbed into view of the cameras – Bradford made another note, _adjust position of cameras, weapons keep blocking them._

“Delta 3, move in and disarm him. Carefully.”

Delta 3 advanced, moving in slow, purposeful steps. His weapon quivered in the margins of the camera’s sight.

The recon team’s man shook. The light gleamed off his rifle and the grenade sitting in the palm of his hand. Thunder rolled outside. Delta 3 raised a hand, lowering the spotlight on the shipping container.

The light flashed over the recon soldier’s face, revealing stark white eyes as as empty as a three-day corpse's. Angry red circles were burned into the skin around his eyes. The soldier’s head bobbed to an unconscious rhythm.

“My God…” Delta 3 whispered. Something caught his eye, and he leaned to the side.

Bradford could only stare. There was something behind the recon soldier. Something small, and grey, and vaguely humanoid. Its core glowed red. Thin tendrils of purple energy emanated from a point on its wide forehead.

It raised a hand, and flicked.

The recon soldier fired. On the main screen, Delta 3’s body cam died.

Bradford's hands curled around the railing of the Hologlobe balcony. “What the hell is going on?”

“HE SHOT HIM!”

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Central! DELTA 3 IS DOWN!”

“GRENADE!”

All three remaining bodycams blanked out in a cloud of white light or of darkness, as their owners retreated.

 

When they returned, the mysterious creature had scampered in front of Delta 1. It raised a sleek gun that looked to be the same material as the constructs outside, and fired. Green plasma shot through Delta 1’s head, covering the bodycam in gore. The mike was still running, capturing the limp body’s fall to the tiled floor.

“He’s down! Delta 1 is down!” Delta 4 said.

“Central! We’re taking fire from multiple X-Rays!” Delta 2 said. Bursts of green plasma rained upon the wooden crates, but the soldier was left unscathed.

“This guy’s got me pinned down! Taking heavy fire!” Delta 4 huddled behind the storage crates. Droplets of hot plasma fell on her body cam. She hissed.

“Damn it!” Central clutched the railing. He wasn’t fit to be a commanding officer, he was best with logistics – he was going to get this team killed. He took a deep breath. He could barely see anything. He would have to trust in his soldiers’ judgment – clearly, his own was absolute shit. “Delta 2, you’re flanked too! Find some better cover!” Delta 2 rushed to the shipping container, where Delta 1 lay. “All right, Delta 2, weapons free! Get ready to fire.”

He was glad that Delta 2 chose the X-Ray suppressing his fellow teammate. Delta 2 propped his elbow against a barrel, slipped his finger onto the trigger, and fired. The shots landed true, piercing the X-Ray’s skull. Gouts of pus-yellow blood flew from the X-Ray’s head.

“Nice shot,” Central said. “Delta 4, you’re freed up to move. Get outta there and get into cover.” Delta 2 darted to a stack of barrels. “Now grenade your enemy.”

The grenade beeped as it landed next to the corpse of Delta 1. It exploded into shards, piercing the X-Ray’s chest and head. The X-Ray screamed as it dissipated into bloody chunks.

“Get ready for their counterattack.” He saw scuffling in the corner of Delta 4’s camera. “Look out! There’s another one coming behind you!”

He was too late. The X-Ray leveled its strange gun, and fired. Multiple blasts of green plasma peppered Delta 4’s chest. Her body cam went dead.

“Damn it. It’s just you now, Delta 2. Let’s tip the odds in our favor.”

Delta 2 sprinted to the cover of more shipping containers. His bodycam pressed against the corrugated metal. “Sir, I’ve got a position where I can flank the enemy.”

“That’s it. You’ve got a clear shot from that position. Fire.”

Delta 2 steadied his gun. Shots rang out in the warehouse. An X-Ray screamed.

The body cam panned around the warehouse as Delta 2 stood up.

“Central, I think that’s it. It’s over.”

Bradford stared at the screen displaying the body cam. The Hologlobe came back online. A little figure of the Skyranger hovered over Cologne. XCOM wasn’t even a day old, and already it had lost three soldiers at his hands.

“Roger that, Delta. Secure the bodies and head back to the Skyranger for immediate extraction.”

He flipped back through the recordings, pausing on the image of the first contact. The X-Ray with its four-fingered, clawed hand reaching out as if to grab someone. Its burning red eyes. The skull-like shape of its head. The bone plates running up its arms, like spurs on a beetle’s leg.

“Enemy unknown,” he muttered, glaring back at the alien. “But not for long.”

 

* * *

 

It took thirty minutes for Delta 2 to carry the fallen back to the Skyranger, aided by its pilot. It took just over three hours for the Skyranger to fly back from Germany to the outskirts of Manhattan, Kansas, and sink below the rolling plains to land in the XCOM base.

The Commander still hadn’t arrived yet, despite their plane landing over two hours ago. Bradford stared at images of the invaders, burning them into his brain. These were the enemies he’d fight, perhaps for the rest of his life. He had failed his soldiers.

He crossed his arms. The green sweater of XCOM officials failed to keep him warm in the drafty base.

Dr. Vahlen stood beside him, her right arm clutching a tablet with the XCOM logo engraved in the back. The last Bradford had heard, Apple had signed on to supply XCOM with the majority of their tech. Bradford hoped that meant their files would be secure… at least, more secure than the American government’s. Although XCOM was a collaboration between nations, it was probably for the best if the project was not widely known among the civilian population. Bradford could almost see the headlines proclaiming, “Governments wasting money on private military! The people demand accountability!” followed by, “so and so is withdrawing from the XCOM project.”

He shook his head. Focus. There was an enemy, and he needed to man a base to destroy it.

Speaking of men, Delta 2 was in the infirmary. There was nothing physically wrong with the soldier, but Vahlen insisted on keeping him there to ensure that the aliens hadn’t contaminated him while he took cover by that strange green canister. Bradford would have to go visit Ruiz soon.

“What are they?” Dr. Vahlen asked in a nearly reverent tone.

“Whatever they are, they nearly took out a squad of our best soldiers.” His tablet beeped, as if detecting the lie. Bradford winced. “If you’ll excuse me. The Commander is waiting in the briefing room.”

 

It turned out the Council was waiting for Bradford, not the Commander. On the massive communications screen, all sixteen representatives were sitting at a round table, backlit by a spotlight that cast their faces into shadow.

Back in Basic, Bradford had occasionally fucked up and had been duly punished by his superiors. The Central Officer had swept the sunshine off the sidewalks bordering his base more times than he cared to count. The wrath of a drill sergeant spitting and knife-handing in his eighteen-year old face had terrified him. The sixteen men and women’s disappointment, radiating off the screen, made him want to shrivel in his boots.

“Perhaps we should cancel the XCOM project,” a woman said.

“We’ve barely begun!” Bradford raised his hands in supplication. “The Commander will be here soon–“

“You lost three men,” another Councilwoman said, “for every alien you killed, another man died. We can’t fight like this, it’s unsustainable!”

“The media is in a frenzy,” said a Councilman, “we’d be better off securing our own borders–“

“Where is the Commander, Central Officer?” another Councilman asked. His voice was deep and measured, a sharp contrast to the chaos around him.

“I don’t know, sir. The plane landed-”

“Got held up by the TSA,” someone grumbled behind him. “Is the concept of dual citizenship so foreign?”

The Central Officer turned. The leader of the XCOM project was barely shorter than Bradford himself. Now, Bradford knew from his days with the Marines that he had a bad case of baby-face, but the Commander… well… the Commander had exceedingly feminine features. He looked like he’d be more at home on the cover of a university brochure as the token Asian. It was not exactly a face that inspired confidence, something that many on the Council seemed to agree with.

“I’ve smoothed things over with the local authorities,” the Commander said, arms locking behind his back. “The media black-out will remain in place, with controlled release of documents to proceed over the following weeks. The citizens seem to content to keep their videos to themselves if told that it will benefit their police and first aid services.”

An approving murmur rose from some members of the Council.

The calm-voiced Councilman cleared his throat.

“Hello, Commander. In light of the recent extraterrestrial incursion, this Council of Nations has convened to approve the activation of the XCOM Project. You have been chosen to lead this initiative. To oversee our first—and last—line of defense.”

“No pressure,” the Commander murmured.

Definitely belonged in a university brochure. The Earth had had a good run.

The Councilman inclined his bald head. “Your efforts will have considerable influence on this planet's future. We urge you to keep that in mind as you proceed.”

“Don’t screw it up, _xiao dao_ ,” a figure in the background said.

The Commander dipped his head. “I will keep that in mind, sir."

“Good luck, Commander,” the Councilman said, and the transmission ended.

The Commander closed his eyes briefly, and then looked at Bradford.

“Commander Jian, at your service.” He offered his hand. “Where should I start?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning to those who might still be reading: we will be following XCOM characters for a little bit. Don't worry! Ruby and the rest are coming. They're not pining for the fjords quite yet.
> 
> For those who might not be familiar with XCOM: essentially, aliens invade the Earth in 2015, and you are the Commander who leads the "special unit" to defeat them. Operation Devil's Moon is the tutorial in which you get your ass kicked – I mean, defend the Earth with passable losses.
> 
> In the next chapter: Operation Gatecrasher, featuring Punished Bradford instead of Boy Scout Bradford.
> 
> OPERATION: Devil's Moon  
> Soldiers deployed  
> \- Delta 1 (Rk. Tim West, Canada) = KIA  
> \- Delta 2 (Rk. Sergio Ruiz, Argentina) = Heavy  
> \- Delta 3 (Rk. Yegor Lebedev, Ukraine) = KIA  
> \- Delta 4 (Rk. Natsuki Yoshida, Japan) = KIA


	3. Operation: Gatecrasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 years after the fall of XCOM and the end of everything he once knew, Bradford comes to the City of Light - older, bitterer, and on a mission.

New Paris was nothing like the city he had once visited long ago, as a senior fresh out of school on a trip with friends before they went on their separate ways. Sure, the air didn’t stink of piss and the inhabitants were less likely to curse you out (as far as he knew. They had traded their native tongues for the jabber of the ADVENT coalition.) But that didn’t change what the aliens had done to the City of Light.

Her famous Louvre and its thousand paintings were dust, le Grand Palais had been razed, Notre-Dame was an ADVENT church… and with their destruction, more of humanity’s history was rewritten by the aliens. Football-sized screens plastered across the city broadcasted ADVENT propaganda 24/7. Once human, the figures on the Arc de Triomphe had been transformed into Sectoids and Mutons. Once the highlight of the Parisian skyline, the Eiffel Tower had been reforged into a massive statue of the Elders.

Back in 2015, the world had screamed when ISIS destroyed the ancient artifacts of Mosul Museum. Not a year later, they didn’t even whimper when ADVENT took away Paris.

Today was Unification Day, the celebration of the great accord. 20 years ago, he had watched in the Hologlobe, as the Earth hand itself to the aliens on a silver platter in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. XCOM had been working hard to defend the Earth. Their missions often ended in men and women limping home, bloodied and beaten, but not broken. Thanks to ADVENT propaganda, the soldiers he once managed - and the Commander, the Commander of all people – were seen as terrorists of the old world. Those damnable civilians would celebrate the downfall of the old world long into the night.

It was the perfect night, if you wanted to break out a high security prisoner.

 

It was dusk by the time Bradford lined up at the checkpoint. He made sure to stay in the center: if you loitered on the side, you were more likely to be selected for a "random search." His fellow Americans had once complained about stop and frisk searches. In these times, that wasn't enough to keep thousands of people flocked to the ADVENT city centers. They sacrificed their freedom for the illusion of safety under so-called benevolent alien leaders.

“The ADVENT Administration reminds you to report all suspicious activity to your nearest peace keeper,” a soothing feminine voice said over the loudspeaker. “Remember, only together can we build a better tomorrow.”

He held back a snort. Benevolent. It made the aliens sound like they had come to Earth with baskets of puppies.

(– _“Sir! Multiple sensors have been tripped! We have a breach!” – the fire extinguisher collided against his head, knocking the breath out of his lungs – the technician stood before him, blood leaking from sightless eyes_ –)

The former Central Officer thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his borrowed coat. Bradford briefly wondered what was the penalty for public drunkenness in ADVENT city centers. Out in the slums, you’d get a kick in the ribs and shoved out of the bar. He’d end up back there, if the fledgling XCOM failed once again.

 _Focus_ , he chided. _This could be it. And if it isn’t, there’s always the rotgut back on the ship._

“Approaching position,” Kelly said into his earpiece. She was one of the first recruits – green, born after the Invasion, but she had heart where it counted. “You were right. Definitely got their hands full today.”

“Stay focused.” Bradford scanned the checkpoint for Kelly. Good. She was out of sight. The ADVENT troopers stationed at the gate would have their eyes on him alone. “Prep Gatecrasher. 60 seconds.”

The closest ADVENT trooper motioned at the checkpoint with its rifle.

He stepped through the security gate.

Sirens wailed. The gate bathed him in angry red light as every soldier present trained their gun on him. One ADVENT trooper pointed at him and jabbered in that strange, alien language.

Bradford risked a glance to the side. Kelly snuck through the holographic fences, heading to the ADVENT patrol transport behind the security gate.

A red-suited ADVENT Officer advanced. The rest of its black-suited flunkies closed in, sharks that had tasted blood.

“Mor Balaten,” it growled, sleek black rifle held at the ready.

He didn't move.

The ADVENT Officer lashed out. The rifle caught Bradford in the gut.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. Although it knocked the wind from his lungs, he scowled at the ADVENT officer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kelly stick a pack of X4 explosives onto the nearest vehicle.

“Mor Balaten!” the Officer demanded, as Kelly walked out of the blast range.

Bradford rose just long enough to stare down the invader. He touched his mike.

“Now.”

He dropped to the ground. Kelly pressed the detonator.

The transport exploded into orange flames. Shrapnel peppered his coat, but the reinforced fabric protected him from the worst. The blast wave sent the ADVENT troops ragdolling into the air. Civilians fled in every direction. Good. Chaos would keep ADVENT busy, long enough for the Menace team to blow up the former Eiffel Tower.

_That's terrorist talk. Don't you remember fighting real terrorists?_

“Signal sent, Shen. Hope you’re listening,” he muttered.

Bradford dashed to the nearest security terminal – a squat black box, screen glowing with the red tones the ADVENT administration loved so much – and kicked it open. He grabbed the guns Osei’s contact had hidden within: a thick, bulky conventional rifle for him, and a slightly sleeker one for Kelly.

Kelly came running over, kicking a twitching ADVENT trooper on her way. Bradford handed her the sleeker gun, and took aim at the troopers on the ground.

“We have to go,” she said. “Crashers’ waiting for us.”

Every nerve in his body screamed for him to pull the trigger and finish the job. But the younger woman had a point. The cache only had a few rounds and two grenades for both of them.

“Lead the way,” he said.

 

* * *

 

They crept through the City of Light, Bradford occasionally providing support for the Menace team. Kelly had set charges throughout the city, detonating them at random to keep the administration on their toes. It wasn’t enough. Within minutes of the Menace team breaking concealment, ADVENT had hordes of aliens advancing across the Champs de Mars.

“Central! Menace 1 is down! The Sectoid’s got her!” Menace 5 said over the radio.

An ADVENT Officer pointed at the duo. Its buddies spread out, seeking refuge in the cover of storefronts.

Bradford’s finger closed around the trigger. He breathed in, and pulled. A trooper collapsed in a pool of orange-yellow blood.

“Kill the Sectoid, it’ll free Menace-1. Then go for the Officers. The ADVENT Officers seem more capable than the grunts,” Bradford warned, ducking into the safety of an alley. A pulse of hot metal from an Officer’s rifle buried itself in the steel wall. “We’re not sure whether to chalk it up to training or some sort of mind control.”

Kelly fired. The bullet nailed the Officer in the head.

Of all the recruits that could have accompanied him, Bradford was glad that it was the one who could shoot. He still had nightmares of rookies shooting the dirt at their feet when a Sectoid – the small, almost cute kind, not the 2035 roided out monstrosity – was far closer.

They traded fire for a few more seconds, until Bradford finally chucked a grenade and killed the stragglers.

 

* * *

 

 

They were almost to the gene therapy clinic when his headset buzzed.

“Central, X4 charges are set,” Menace-4 said.

“Status confirmed. Set them off and move to evac,” Bradford said as he walked up the avenue. He faintly remembered looking up at the massive columns of the Grand Palais from this position. The Corinthian columns had been replaced by the unassuming glass front of the clinic, and the Grand Palais's soaring glass ceiling was now a flat black roof. Every mote of human individuality had been stamped out by cookie-cutter steel and glass buildings.

The fountains lining the avenue burbled, a quiet symphony with the flames crackling on the street beside the clinic. Most of the ADVENT troopers who guarded the clinic lay dead before its doors. Only one still stood, advancing on the XCOM soldier crouching behind a barricade.

Kelly caught sight of Ramirez’s body, the rookie’s blood tinting a fountain pink. The corpse’s mouth gaped in a soundless scream. “Sweet God…”

( _-“Run!” Bradford yelled, but who was left to hear? He hit the ground, just as a bolt of plasma sizzled overhead – this cell was done for, he had to flee once again–_ )

“Watch my flank!” Osei called over the radio.

Bradford aimed and fired.

The shot went straight through the trooper’s back. Limbs sprawled, as the black armored body went limp and dropped. The trooper planted one arm against the slick tiles lining the ground: its other hand went to its helmet, and it burbled in the alien tongue.

“He’s calling reinforcements!” Shen said in his ear. “Stop that–“

Bradford stalked over and stamped on the trooper’s neck. It snapped beneath his boot.

“Transmission…”

“Central, reporting in,” Bradford said with a hint of smugness. He nudged the toe of his boot underneath the trooper’s still twitching body. With a swift kick, it turned over. The black faceplate fell off, revealing a face that was almost human. But the nose was squashed flat like a toad’s back, the eyes were overlarge and the forehead was too broad. Only the mouth remained human, pale lips still moving in the semblance of life.

“You’re late,” Shen said. “What were you doing down there?”

“Taking in the sights,” he replied.

“The hell are these things?” Kelly asked, shifting from foot to foot.

 “They’re us,” he replied. Kelly stilled. Behind the barricade, Osei was catching his breath. “Or at least they used to be. Human-hybrid soldiers.” Orange bubbling blood leaked from the trooper’s corpse. “ADVENT’s reward for obedience and service.”

“We all heard rumors.” Shen’s voice was laden with pain.

(– _“DAD! DAD! GET OUT OF THERE!” – “Lily, run!” – Chryssalid shrieking – the wet slick of flesh parting – the old man’s body crumpling on the floor of the Avenger–_ )

“I just never… believed it was true,” Shen continued.

“Nobody wanted to. But if we find what we’re looking for today, I promise you that’s gonna change.” Bradford glanced over his shoulder and jerked his head to the clinic. “Let’s move!”

 

Shen hissed. “Looks like the transmission went through. You have an ADVENT transport closing on your position!”

“I’ll hold’em back, sir!” Osei said.

“You heard them!” Bradford took cover behind the car parked before the clinic. No enemies in sight. “Menace-3, cover the left side!”

He ran to the clinics’ front, swung his gun and leapt, bursting through the window. Glass scattered over the pristine floor. Kelly followed suite. 

The duo rushed past the white, almost-coffin like pods that would have held civilians undergoing treatment. But today was Unification Day, and nobody in the ADVENT City Center where the Accord was signed would miss such an important day.

Bradford took up a position beside the door that led to the clinic’s research quarters. Kelly knelt behind a gene therapy pod. Outside, the air hummed as the ADVENT transporter swooped in. Metal clanked against tiles, signaling the arrival of more ADVENT grunts.

“Reinforcements just hit the ground,” Shen confirmed.

“They’re getting nervous,” he said, watching Kelly fiddle on her tablet. “Now I know we’re in the right place.” Shots rang out, peppering the air with their staccato beat. An armor clad body hit the ground. “Nicely done! Fall back to our position.”

“Just go!” Osei said. Bradford could hear the echo of his Commander’s voice, a faint memory stirring at the edges of his consciousness. “I’ll try to stall’em here!”

Kelly came up to the door and stuck her tablet over the electronic lock. “Shen says I should be able to cut right through. They were never expecting anyone to get this far.”

Something strange and light swept through Bradford’s chest. It felt like hope. He tamped it down.

Her fingers danced along the tablet. The door slid open.

“We’re in!” Kelly stuffed the tablet into her jacket and turned on her gun's flashlight.

“Moving to secure the package,” Bradford said, entering the Inner Sanctum. He swept his gun side to side. The Inner Sanctum was pitch black but for the faint glow of the ADVENT symbols pasted over every wall. The flashlight on his gun roved over the computer screens lining each wall, translucent cylinders with humanoid forms floating in the goo, and containers with spiderweb-patterned holsters.

Shen was not so optimistic. “Let’s hope our intel was good.”

Bradford turned. His light flashed over a black cylinder with a switch on the side. ADVENT’s red arrow symbol glowed on the front, just as the Informant had described. He took a deep breath, drinking in the sight.

“This is the place.”

“Are you sure?” Shen asked.

He pulled the switch and stood back. The twin halves of the cylinder’s black sheath hissed back. An alarm whined as more green light poured into the Inner Sanctum. Within the cylinder’s watery depths hung a figure in a red-black astronaut suit, designed to the aliens’ aesthetics. The water drained away, letting the figure hang slack against the cylinder’s glass walls.

“Yes."

“Looks like there’s an access panel attached,” Shen said. He had waited twenty years. He had waited long enough. Bradford took his rifle by the barrel and swung it back. “If you get me a better look, I can–”

Bradford drove the butt of his rifle into the cylinder. It shattered into thousands of jagged fragments. He didn’t care as they sliced into his skin – he dropped his rifle and caught the astronaut-suited form as it fell forward. The figure was heavy, heavier so when he gently laid it on the ground to examine it. His Commander’s face was barely visible behind the reflective visor.

“Next time,” he said, slotting the rifle into position on his back. “Let’s get out of here.”

He hoisted the original Commander of XCOM over his shoulder.

 

Shen huffed over the radio. “The entire ADVENT security grid just lit up! Firebrand is holding nearby for EVAC, but it’s now or never, Central!”

“Understood,” he said, limping towards Kelly’s position. “We’re on the move.”

Outside, Osei screamed. His voice died into a wet gurgle.

“No!” Shen’s voice was ragged in his ears. “Central! Crasher-1 is down! You have to get out of there.”

Bradford repositioned the Commander over his shoulders. If the aliens took a shot at him, it would hit him first. “We need another exit! Now!”

Kelly held up the last grenade and pointed at a patch of wall boasting the ADVENT symbol. “This good enough?”

“Works for me!”

She pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. The wall crumbled in the explosion.

The sweet smell of dusk and fresh air filtered into the Inner Sanctum.

Bradford struggled forward, the Commander heavy on his back. They left the oppressive darkness of the Inner Sanctum for the serene quiet of dusk - well, serene if you didn't pay attention to the hum of approaching ADVENT Interceptors. Outside, the gene clinic was an innocuous shade of gray. Leafy vines twirled down the building’s façade. It looked like a place of life, instead of… whatever was happening in the Inner Sanctum.

“Almost there, Menace 3!” He scanned the area – no sign of the black armor of ADVENT troopers, and no sign of Sectoids or Mutons either. “Stay focused!”

“I’m right behind–“ Gunfire abruptly cut Kelly off. “I’m okay!” she panted, sprinting over to his position. “Way too close!”

He made to answer, but three shots came streaking out of the inner sanctum. They pierced his shoulder, narrowly missing the Commander’s body. Bradford groaned and sank against the clinic wall, knees trembling beneath him.

“Firebrand, this is Gatecrasher! We need an immediate EVAC!” He held up his wrist. The wrist-mounted computer scanned the surrounding area, projecting a 3-D hologram into thin air. He tapped a square of land between two fields of grass, indicating where Firebrand should hover.

The Skyranger coasted through the air. It dropped blue flares at the position.

“Get moving, Menace-3!” he said, limping below the ship. Black ropes hissed down from the Skyranger’s cargo bay. Bradford clipped himself on. The rope went taut, as the soldiers inside hoisted him up.

“You don’t need to tell me twice!” Kelly panted.

“Here, sir!” Menace-5 said as he wheeled a gurney over.

Bradford laid the Commander on top and turned to the bay’s open mouth.

Kelly raced into view. Magnetically slung shards of metal followed in her wake. She grabbed onto a rope. Menace-4 and Bradford began reeling her in – two people combined were faster than the automatic winch system.

“We need to move!” Firebrand, the Skyranger pilot, said. “Transport on our tail!”

“Almost there!” Menace-4 grabbed Kelly's hand and hauled her in. “Good to go!”

The passenger bay door closed.

The Skyranger shot into the skies over the City of Light.

 

* * *

 

Bradford studied the men and women assembled inside the passenger bay. The Commander’s suit rose and fell with jagged breaths. Menace-1’s corpse lay on the floor, wrapped in a bloodstained cloth. Red. Human blood. Menace 2 was curled up in one of the seats, clutching the plasma burns on her arms. Kelly – Menace 3, Menace 3, he couldn’t get attached when men died so easily these days – sat slack in her seat, dark brown hair drooping into sightless eyes. Menace 4 had assumed the fetal position by the gurney. Blood pooled around his body.

Menace 5 sat apart from the group.

“We left them behind,” he moaned, hands grabbing fistfuls of hair. Blood leaked through the holes in his armor, “we left Osei and Ramirez behind, we should’ve given them a proper funeral, we left them behind…”

Bradford sighed.

It was stupid to hope that things would get better. The Menace team had been made up of the best soldiers XCOM currently had – a veteran from the First War, a kid who had been fresh out of BASIC on Unification Day, a survival nut, a resistance fighter, and a former gangster. Crasher team was composed of two kids who had grown up with guns in their hands and ADVENT on their tails. Look at them now, limping back to base, bleeding out of every orifice. They had done their best, and their best had still brought them to death’s doorstep.

Without the Commander, they were pathetic directionless things, just waiting to die.

( _He clutched the railing of the Hologlobe and stared at the soldiers pinned down inside the warehouse. He wasn’t fit to be a commanding officer, he was best with logistics – he was going to get this team killed._ )

Bradford unhooked the first aid kit from the gurney. He knelt by Menace 4’s side and began to loosen the straps of his armor.

“It’s tough out there,” he said with confidence he did not feel. Armor squeaked against the seats as the soldiers looked at him. “But things will be better. Look at you. You shot down hordes of aliens and ADVENT’s grunts, and you’re still standing. You are humanity’s best and brightest. Things will only get better from here on out.”

The armor around Menace 4’s left arm dropped to the floor, revealing a long gash the length of a machete. Bradford unwound a length of tape. It would have to do, until Dr. Tygan could patch Menace 4 up.

“We have the Commander back,” he said quietly, taping his soldier’s arm shut, “because you struck the biggest blow against ADVENT in two decades. You are XCOM. And with the Commander, you’re going to bring ADVENT to their knees.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitterer as a word sounds strange. 
> 
> So you might be wondering, is the tie-in novel, XCOM 2: Resurrection, canon in this story? Well… yes and no. To say more would be spoilers. This story will also pursue a propaganda aspect (are we heroes keeping peace? or are we weapons pointed at an enemy so someone else can claim a victory, all that jazz) not present in the original game.
> 
> To my eternal embarrassment, the Eiffel Tower is still standing in the game itself. Just… it's symbolic, and let's leave it at that.
> 
> Next XCOM chapter: Bradford reflects on the old days.


	4. Adhara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally, when people start hearing voices, they get sent to a shrink. Hearing a voice is what keeps Yang from needing a shrink.
> 
> …Not that there is one in the plane of infinite green light.

Yang floated.

She breathed in, and out.

Her eyes opened, but there was nothing except soft green light.

 _Is this hell, or heaven?_ she wondered.

An inordinate amount of time passed. Yang replayed her last battle over and over again, as if that would give her answers – the shard of crystal that pierced her father’s neck; the way Blake’s lips felt on hers before they made their last stand – but to her dismay, even the memories of her last days were slowly slipping away.

She was alone in this strange world. Her body was locked in on itself, limbs refusing to follow her command. Fluids sloshed, an engine purred: but there was no sign of their source.

At some point, she couldn’t remember ever existing outside of the opaque light.

_Yup. I’m definitely in hell._

 

* * *

 

She stirred from her fitful slumber. She had thought this world empty. And yet, a purplish essence floated just outside the light.

“The flesh is strong, but the mind is stronger!” an ethereal voice said. Its soft, melodic tones vibrated through the confines of her world. It reminded Yang of a black haired woman, something to do with feathers…. “These are not worthy vessels.”

“We must advance to the next world,” said another echoing voice. This one was male, and frail, like an eggshell made brittle by sunlight. “We cannot bend their bodies to our will. Leave these creatures behind, and report to our brethren that we took what we could.”

“There is potential within these four,” said the melodic voice. “We should keep them. They will prove useful, if we unlock their secrets.”

 _Four? Potential?_ Yang’s eyes widened. Her uncle had told her of the silver light that Ruby could summon – did he? The memory was faint… Was Ruby even alive?

She tried to raise her arms. _Get your filthy hands off my sister!_

“They gave us a good deal of trouble.” This voice was deep, rumbling like an earthquake on the ocean floor, but it possessed the same frail quality as the others. “Behold the failure, of we who failed to ascend. We, who possess the means to master the stars, could not assimilate these beings of mere flesh and dust. But we believe there is still use for them, Daimones.”

“Their weapons? Their clothes? Imbued with such potential. You would ignore that?” The female voice continued. “Those will be researched and assimilated into our troops, before we move to strike the next world.”

“Is there any need, Angelis?” the cracked voice asked. _Daimones_ , _maybe_? “You have seen the new world our brethren fight. Thirty-one revolutions of that planet have passed, and already its natives begin to tire of war.”

“We must succeed,” Angelis replied. “The more we bring into the fold, the better it will be for all. This specimen is not a worthy vessel, but she illuminates the path for… better servants.”

 _Servants?_ Yang had spent the last months preparing for a final fight, to ensure the freedom of those she loved. She would not back down now to some misty ghost things. She took a deep breath, imagined bringing up her fists to strike –

Wait.

Yang looked down. The light fizzled as her arms came into view.

She had two arms once again. Flesh, not the cybernetic replacement General Ironwood had constructed.

 “–You felt the spring in Red Cloak, and the winter in White Crown,” the rolling voice said. “They will serve us well, even if we cannot force their bodies.”

Agreement buzzed in the air.

“Our brethren fight another world, one that has more promise than this,” Angelis said. “We will go to our people, and bring these four with us.”

“Our brethren will succeed where we failed,” Daimones said, and the purple essence dissipated.

 

* * *

Yang slept, and dreamed of a girl with hair like a glacier cascading into the sea. She dreamed of a girl, two cat ears set upon dark curls of hair. Yang dreamed of a girl with ruby streaked hair, and could not understand why she felt so sad upon waking up.

* * *

 

 There was a new presence in her world. This was nothing like the misty purple essence that had floated outside the light – this presence was solid and sharp, like the edge of a knife.

Yang opened her eyes.

“Hello?” she wanted to say, but her mouth still would not move. Yang screamed inside. She was tired of this immobility, tired of ignorance, and if she had to spend another minute inside this light, she would go nuts and end up killing herself.

“What on Earth?” A female said. There was no ethereal quality to this voice – it sounded of flesh and blood, as if a woman were talking inside Yang’s head. “Central, is Vahlen killing someone down in Science?”

 _Central? Vahlen?_ Yang shook her head. The names meant nothing to her.

The voice returned. “What are you doing here?”

_You can hear me?_

“Of course I can,” the woman replied, with a hint of sharp teeth. “What are you doing down here? This is restricted–”

The golden-haired brawler wept.

She was not alone anymore.

“Hey. It’s all right. We’ve got you.” The edge had disappeared from the woman’s voice. Something rustled against Yang’s shoulders: a light blue energy that drew prickles from Yang’s Aura.

A memory trickled back into Yang's wearied brain. Yang could faintly remember her father bringing home a wolf from a hunt. She remembered a cabin in a place called Patch, and how wild beasts roamed its forests. The wolf’s russet pelt was matted with hot blood and tiny icicles. She remembered how it felt underneath her four-year old hands. This energy felt exactly like the wolf, down to the mix of iciness and warmth.

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

 _It’s not. It’s not! Where’s Ruby?_ Yang tried to curl in on herself, but of course, her muscles were locked in place. _Where’s Weiss? Where’s Blake?_

“Let’s take it one step at a time. You’re not a soldier,” the woman said. “What’s your name?”

 _Yang! Yang Xiao Long!_ The tears that should have flowed down her cheeks dissipated into the green light. _My sister’s Ruby, and she’s gone! I don’t even know if she’s alive!_

The light blue energy retreated from Yang’s shoulders.

“I must go. Yang, I’ll keep an eye out for your sister.”

_Wait! Who are you?_

There was a brief silence.

“You can call me Mu Lan.”

 _You're from Patch too?_ Yang asked, but the presence had already disappeared.

 

* * *

The memories began to return, but for some reason, Yang couldn’t remember anything after she broke Mercury’s leg.

Sometimes, she wished she didn't remember.

* * *

 

Bright white lights would occasionally replace the soft green world she had known for so long. If she saw the white lights, she would sleep for a long time after.

Yang took the time to reflect on her life. She had never confessed her love to Blake – there had been moments on late nights in Beacon where she wanted to lean over and kiss Blake, but she had never followed through. Before the tournament, Blake had eyes only for Sun. She wished she could go back and tell the Cat Faunus. Blake was a Faunus, she had beautiful ears that she hid beneath the bow, how could Yang have forgotten?

She thought of her mother. She wondered if she would ever get to meet the woman she had only seen in photos. Did Raven regret leaving her daughter?

Was Weiss imprisoned, just as Yang was? Something twisted within Yang’s chest. Oh no. Weiss hated being alone. She had the faintest memory of the heiress saying, “ _I always wanted bunkbeds._ ”

Yang wondered where Mu Lan was.

 

* * *

The golden-haired brawler didn’t know how much time had passed, but Yang’s body felt weaker. Something was eating at her muscles – disuse, probably. Yang hoped she wasn’t rotting from the inside out.

 Something shifted in the yellow-green light. “Hello again.” Mu Lan sounded exhausted, but triumphant. “I believe I have talked with your sister and… Weiss, Blake?”

_They’re alive?_

“Yes, but I don’t know where.”

Relief surged through Yang.

_Can I talk to them?_

“Let me try.”

The answer was no. Light blue energy crackled around Yang’s head. It felt like knives were slicing through her entire body – Yang tasted copper and salt, and Mu Lan’s presence disappeared.

* * *

 

 _“_ I’m sorry, _”_ Mu Lan said when she next dropped by. “For some reason, I can’t connect people. Ruby says, Tell Yang I love her. Weiss and Blake were harder to contact, but they miss you.”

Yang began to clench her hands. It was one of the exercises she did, to stay sane. She couldn’t see her hands, but it felt good to know that they were there.

_Can you tell her I love her too?_

“When I next hear them.” Mu Lan sighed. Her presence smelled of ozone and electricity, a welcome change from the blandness of what Yang nicknamed 'the piss domain.' “It has been… busy, lately. It is good to have a break.”

_What do you do?_

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

Yang rolled her shoulders, delighted when they moved as they should. _Aww, come on. Everybody says that. Well, I’m a Huntress. I kick Grimm ass and go on awesome adventures!_

“Like the fairy tales? What, do you beat up Snow White?”

The brawler rolled her eyes. _No, even if Weiss does get on my nerves. Grimm, like Beowolves and Death Stalkers!_ _The reason why people can’t go out of the kingdoms!_

“Kingdoms?”

_Wow, have you been living underneath a rock? Atlas, Mistral, Vacuo and Vale. We Huntresses protect the kingdoms so people can live!_

_I’m beginning to sound a lot like Weiss_ , Yang thought. She hoped Mu Lan hadn’t heard that particular thought.

“…Is Saudi Arabia a kingdom?"

_Saudi Arabia? Where in Remnant is that? It’s like you’re living in a totally different world._

Mu Lan paused. “Perhaps.” Something locked into place around her presence, like an armored shell.

A little giddy bubbliness started up in Yang’s chest. _No way! I’m talking to an alien?_

“I wish. I’ve spent too long in the outskirts, and have forgotten the world around me.”

Yang chuckled. _Oh no, you don’t. That’s the same bull dad tries to pull when he’s depressed. You’re totally an alien. But you feel so… human._

“Well, that’s because I am human. And I come in peace.”

Yang grinned. _I’m pretty sure that’s what she said._

“Wonderful. More people with the maturity of sixteen year old boys,” Mu Lan groaned.

_I’m seventeen, going on eighteen, if that helps._

“You get a pass.” Mu Lan sighed. “I work with people who think it appropriate to gift their superiors matching swimwear, Yang. They should know better!”

 _Who do you work with, and how do they get the money to buy swimwear_? Yang briefly thought of the streets lining downtown Vale – especially Coco’s favorite shop and its thousand-lien swimsuits. Her side jobs occasionally brought in enough money for Yang to treat herself, but maintaining Ember Celica and Bumblebee ate up most of her money.

“Classified, and classified.”

_Is there anything I can know?_

Mu Lan laughed. “Not much in my line of work. But I’d like to know: where are you, Yang?”

 _Stuck in the plane of lime green light._ Yang grinned. _You could say I’m in a bit of a jam._

“I’m pretty sure you make marmalade out of limes, not jam.”

_You’re no fun._

“Could you tell me how you got into this jam?”

 _Classified._ Yang grinned at the small growl the presence made. _I don’t really remember. I think I lost a fight?_

The presence stiffened. “What kind of fight?”

Yang strained to think. _Something about plasma, something… I really don’t remember. Maybe I’m in jail for breaking Mercury’s legs._

“That’s strange.”

 _Yeah, I thought jail would have more bars_. She flexed her hands. _I guess they just needed more to hold me back! Not that it makes me feel better._

“You didn’t get a trial?”

_Nah. I mean, everyone in the Coliseum saw it…_

The presence shifted. “Duty calls. I must go soon,” Mu Lan said, the fatigue returning to her voice. “But something strikes me as unusual, Yang. Have you talked to anyone else besides me?”

_I wish. I miss my friends._

“Are you in solitary confinement?”

_In the piss dimension, pretty much._

“And you didn't get a trial.”

_No… why would they need to? Everyone saw me._

The light blue energy returned. This time, it settled on Yang’s hands. It was warm, as if another human was touching her.

“I’ll ask around. That is far too great a punishment, even for assault."

_Thanks. That makes me feel so much better._

 

* * *

 Yang wasn’t the smartest in team RWBY – she and Blake were the brawn, while Weiss was the academic brains and Ruby the tactical brains. Still, she started to notice a pattern. The white lights were getting more frequent, and so were Mu Lan’s visits. Mu Lan sounded more tired during these conversations. But if it had been a while since the white lights, Mu Lan would stay for longer, and sound happier.

Something was changing outside the confines of the green light.

She felt heavy, as if something were dragging her into orbit around a distant sun.

* * *

 

They talked more readily these days: Yang would tell Mu Lan stories of Ruby building Crescent Rose and Uncle Qrow wrestling dad in the freshly fallen snow outside the cabin. She sang – a lullaby her father wrote for her, the pop song she wrote for Ruby, hard rock from Junior’s club. Mu Lan refused to talk about her job, but she recited poems and stories – Goldilocks, the ballad of Mu Lan and the legend of Hades and Persephone.

 _We have stories like the Maidens_ , Yang said, shaking her head. _Why does your story of the seasons end in kidnapping? That’s not love, that’s just… ew._

Mu Lan laughed. “People have strange ideas of love. Tell me. I’ve never heard of the Maidens before. Do you remember how it goes?”

 _Ruby didn’t like the story as much as the Silver Eyed Warrior, so I’m a bit shaky_ , Yang admitted. _I think it goes like this. There was a wizard who lived alone, shut off from the world. Four sisters came: the first was Winter, who asked him to reflect on what he had; the second was Spring, who brought the world around him to life; the third was Summer, who gave him a feast from Spring’s bounty; and the last was Fall, who asked that he enjoy life and be thankful for what he had. He gave them the powers of the seasons in return. And with that, they became the Maidens._

“…I like your version of the seasons better.” The presence huffed. “I’ve had enough of abductions for a lifetime.”

_You should tell Blake the story of Hades and Persephone … on second thought, seed wouldn’t like it._

“So I’ve heard. Blake is a… reticent person, but I have learned much.”

_“Cat got her tongue?”_

Mu Lan groaned. “I’m telling her you said that.”

For the first time in ages, Yang laughed.

 

* * *

 

The engine stopped purring.

 _I heard some people say that they’d take_ us four _to another world_ , she confided when Mu Lan came to visit. _Maybe we’re finally here?_

Mu Lan presence sighed. “Do you want the good news, the bad news, or everything in between?”

_I’m not going to like this, am I._

"No. Do you still want to hear?"

Yang rolled her eyes. _Any news is better than sitting here in the plane of infinite piss.  
_

Mu Lan took a deep breath. _“_ Let’s go with everything in between. Remember the legend of Hades and Persephone?”

“ _The creepy kidnapping dude? I haven’t been kidnapped by a god, have I?_ ”

The presence grew grim, like someone readying to draw their sword from their scabbard. “From what you and the rest of team RWBY have said, you were abducted.”

_By aliens?_

"Most likely," Mu Lan confirmed.

_The bad news?_

“…we can talk about that later. The good news, is that I think I can find you.”

_And my friends?_

“And your friends,” she confirmed. “But it will take some time. I can’t perceive your exact location.”

_How will you find me, then?_

“You have a very distinctive presence.”

Yang snorted. _Fire and brimstone?_

“You feel like summer.”

 _Huh._ Yang briefly thought of the woman she had called mother. _What should I look for?  
_

“I’m afraid there’s not much. But if men and women with massive guns drop by your glowing green plane, you should tell them you’re friendly.”

Yang looked down at the white garments covering her breasts and hips. _I’m not exactly the big bad wolf right now._

“Perhaps.” The presence rustled, as if it were curling into a ball. “But it will help them to recognize you. Tell them vigilo confido.”

_Vigilo confido? Is that some sort of secret passcode?_

She could almost feel Mu Lan smile. “No. It means, _I am watchful. I am relied on._ Considering what you told me about being a Huntress, I think it is appropriate.”

 _Hey, if you guys find me, can I help you out?_ _I did train to beat up monsters, after all_.

“I don’t know, Yang. We will see.”

Yang huffed. _That’s what my dad says when he means no._

“I don’t know yet, Yang. We can discuss that when – what on Earth?”

Something rumbled outside the green light.

The presence grew cold. “I must go. We’re under attack on my side.”

“ _Take care, okay? I’m gonna miss our chats._ ”

“ _Vigilo confido, Yang. See you on the other side._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adhara: The Maiden's star, of the Canis Major constellation.


	5. Operation: Empty Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome home.

Once the Avenger touched down, Kelly and Technician Lasko rushed the stretcher to the operating room. Bradford followed in their wake, massaging his bloodied shoulder. The duo grabbed the Commander – Kelly by the shoulders, Lasko by the legs – and unceremoniously dumped the suit onto the operating table.

“Carefully! There’s potentially decades of atrophy to contend with!” said Dr. Tygan as he studied the patient.

Gas hissed as Lasko attached oxygen lines to the suit: Kelly backed off, her role in this operation finished. And with the life support connected, so was Lasko’s.

Bradford motioned to the trauma bay down the hall. “Kelly, Lasko, help Agreste fix up the Menace team.”

They nodded, and sprinted off.

“Wish we had more time,” Lily Shen said, wrenching off the helmet’s connections to the suit.

“I don’t disagree. But as it stands now,” Dr. Tygan wiped the condensation from the mask. Overhead, the operating light clicked on, “we risk losing the patient if we don’t begin the removal process immediately.”

The three players were in place. Dr. Tygan was the surgeon. Chief Engineer Shen would monitor her vitals. Bradford would stand by as a friendly face, in case the Commander. According to Dr. Tygan, the patient had to be awake in order for him to identify the chip’s connections to the surrounding brain. If the Commander was asleep, and something went wrong, they could unknowingly cause permanent brain damage.

He quietly hoped the Commander would recognize him. A lot had changed over the past twenty years.

“We’re ready,” said the Chief Engineer.

Bradford took a place on the other side of the operating table, across from the two. “Good, then let’s get on with it.”

 

White light loomed in his peripheral vision, as the screen bearing the x-ray of the Commander’s skull wheeled its way to the operating table. Shen opened a few valves, gradually increasing the pressure in the suit. She undid the final locks holding the helmet in place.

Tygan placed a hand on the front of the helmet, and one underneath the chin. With a hiss of pressurized air, the red-tinted helmet came off.

Bradford leaned in. After all these years, his Commander was beside him once again.

“Remarkable,” Dr. Tygan said.

“Just like 20 years ago.” Bradford looked over her face, the lines of the first contact still engraved under her eyes. Dark-brown eyes stared back at him, as keen as he remembered. Her cheeks were hunger-carved, and long locks of black hair stuck to her forehead. The last time he had seen her, her hair had been much shorter. Other than that, age and war had not touched the Commander.

Bradford shook his head. “We were still calling it a war back then. We had no idea what was coming.”

“Searching for primary connection,” Dr. Tygan said, looking at the X-Ray. The three-pronged chip lurked like some electronic beast in the Commander’s brain. “Lily, start the scans.”

Dr. Tygan and Shen activated various devices attached to the screens. Some flushed liquids into the Commander’s veins. Others seemed to be tracers: when their canister was activated, they colored parts of the brain purple on the screens surrounding the operating table.

“I’m getting a strong signal,” Shen finally said. “I think this is it.”

“Response from the cerebral cortex. Good.” The Commander’s eyes fluttered open as Dr. Tygan raised the alien equivalent of a scalpel. He pulled back on the handle, exposing the immensely sharp tip. “Prepping for cranial intrusion.”

The Commander’s head jerked side to side as the scalpel descended. The blade cut a neat, bloodless line on her skin. Then she stilled, and her eyes closed once again.

“Lily, the probe,” Dr. Tygan said. “Central, keep the patient calm.”

Shen handed him an instrument from a nearby tray. The doctor slid the tool into the incision and guided through in slow, precise patterns.

The Commander’s eyes opened. Bradford had seen that look before. A wolf – a scraggly thing with short, patchy grey-red fur – had gotten its head caught between rolls of barbed wire surrounding the desert base. Its tongue had lolled out of its jaws, pale with foam, brushing against a mouse speared on the barbs. There had been that same look – panicked, starving, but still feral enough to rip out his throat – in its amber eyes.

“We’re on your side,” he said, but the words felt heavy on his tongue. “Don’t worry. We’re here to help you. We’ve got you, sir.”

He kept talking as the doctors worked. The Commander drifted in and out of consciousness, but every time her eyes opened, she seemed calmer.

“I’ve managed to identify the connection,” Dr. Tygan said after what seemed an eternity. He readied the scalpel again. The blade slid across the flesh, cauterizing vessels before they could leak blood. “Preparing to make final incision.”

Shen glanced at the screens surrounding the table. Orange and yellow scans of the Commander’s body glowed in the darkness of the operating room. “These readings are getting really erratic.”

“Of course they are,” Tygan said, setting down the scalpel in favor of a new tool. “These implants were never designed to be removed. We are risking–“

Bradford tore his eyes from her face.

“No plan B here, people. Do it!” he ordered.

Tygan and Shen shared a look. Shen’s face promised murder if Tygan failed.

The doctor activated the scorpion-like scalpel. Two sharp prongs extended from the tool’s center, like tweezers. On both sides of the glowing blue core, two more arms – with prongs that extended from a hinge – opened up.

Bradford watched as the tips of the tool disappeared deep into the Commander’s head. He bit back a swell of panic. He could drink later. And if this failed, he would be drinking a lot more.

The Commander’s eyes squeezed shut. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

Flesh squished and liquids sloshed. Tygan’s eyes tracked the prongs’ movement on the screen. The prongs closed around the key-shaped chip embedded in the occipital lobe, and he began to gently tease the chip free.

“Lily, get ready to turn on the anesthetic,” he said, grimacing.

With a sickening sound, the chip was pulled free.

The Commander screamed. Her back arced off the table.

“Doctor!” Shen said. Canisters hissed as anesthetic entered the suit. “Everything’s lighting up! You have to seal it up now.”

Tygan picked up a third tool – this one with composed of six tubes arrayed in a honeycomb pattern, dripping with some strange, slick fluid. “Sealing the wound. Central, hold her down.”

Bradford pinned her shoulders down, until her upper torso lay flat against the table. Only then did Tygan insert the tool into her brain. The doctor’s hands moved in quick, precise movements, as if it were a song and dance they knew well.

The Commander’s breaths grew ragged.

“Doctor,” Shen warned.

Tygan slowly worked the tool out of healing flesh. “Halfway there.”

The convulsions dwindled.

The suit no longer rose with shallow breaths.

“No signal,” Shen said, fingers flying over her screens. The slow hiss of gas stopped. “Doctor, her heart’s failing! Central, get out of the way!”

Bradford stepped away, the familiar weight of helplessness heavy in his gut.

 

Dr. Tygan guided the tool along the hole in her skull, rebuilding the bone that had been cut out. Cerebrospinal fluid leaked onto the neck of the dark red stasis suit.

“Almost there,” he said.

Shen was a whirlwind of activity – she went from screen to screen, adjusting drug concentrations in the IV drip, readying a pack of the same strange fluid that had coated one of the Doctor’s tools…

The doctor set down his tool. “Lily, connect the kickstarter.”

“Systems clear,” Shen said, threading a spool of something into the suit, “and we’re going in three, two, one…”

Tygan briefly looked at the screen displaying her vitals. “The adrenaline. Get that heart pumping.”

Silence hung over the operating table for six tense minutes.

The whine of the heartbeat monitor slowly changed into rhythmic beeps.

“Vitals returning,” Tygan said, withdrawing the tool from the Commander’s head. “Lily, the support systems.”

The screens slowly quieted, except for the heart monitor, which maintained an easy beat.

The Commander’s eyes opened.

“Normal, normal,” Tygan muttered, examining his work. “If you would?”

Shen unhooked the flashlight from her belt and proffered it.

Tygan shone the light into the Commander’s face. “Pupillary response normal. Vitals stabilizing.” He clicked off the flashlight and lifted his head to meet the Central Officer’s eyes. “Procedure complete.”

Bradford breathed in. The air was soaked in the sickly-sweetness of the suit’s suspending fluid and in the rusty salt tang of blood.

It felt like he was resurfacing from the depths of a grave.

He leaned over the table. “Told them it would take more than that to keep you down. Welcome back… Commander.”

 

* * *

 

Shen and Tygan soon shooed him away, citing the need to keep the Commander in a sterile environment while they took off the suit.

Bradford walked out of the trauma bay and into the armory. His eyes rested on the ragged XCOM banner hanging above the gun wall – God, it felt so good to call his band of misfits _XCOM_ and not just another resistance cell. They just weren’t XCOM without the Commander.

“Commander!” a squaddie called – Kundi, who had been there when the Resistance dug up the Avenger from the depths of Verdon Gorge. Had that really been over a year ago? “Never thought you hated statues that much!”

“Central, squaddie,” he corrected, pointedly ignoring the last comment. The statue made such a convenient distraction. If anything, the aliens were begging for it to be blown up. “The real commander’s back.”

“Still the commander to me,” Kundi said with a grin. “Hey, sir, where’s Osei and Ramirez? Shen had a little project for Osei.”

“They didn’t make it home.”

Kundi’s grin wilted. Her eyes went to the technicians scrubbing the bloodstains out of the Skyranger's passenger bay. Bradford remembered _why_ she was still a squaddie: Kundi was better at keeping the soldiers’ spirits up in the base. In the field, she was prone to panicking and team-killing. At least she didn’t call him Central Officer Team Kill; COTK for short. The nickname from the old base still rankled, though after the operations he had led to retrieve the Commander, it was more accurate more than ever.

_It’s a miracle people are still working with me._

“Oh… Shen’s not gonna be happy.” Kundi tilted her head like an overgrown puppy. “But at least the Commander’s back. I hope things will get better!”

“They will. Just you wait.”

He looked around at the suspiciously empty armory. XCOM couldn’t afford to be choosy. Back in the old days, they had a flood of new recruits from all over the world (if green behind the ears.) These days, the only requirement for joining XCOM was the ability to shoot straight and a drive to get the aliens’ off planet. Many of the recruits had the latter; fewer had the former. Still, that meant XCOM had a habit of picking up nosy fuckers. If his old drill sergeant were still around, the Avenger would be filled with people carrying plants to replace the oxygen they used up.

“I’ll see you at the memorial, sir,” Kundi said, as if sensing his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Bradford went through the motions: tacking the three wallet-sized photos onto the memorial wall, where they joined forty-nine others. Underneath their names, he listed their length of time on the Avenger, number of missions, the operation on which they died, and if their comrades knew, cause of death.

He turned and faced the remaining twenty soldiers. They were arrayed around the bar: some in bottles in hand, others with grief-stained cheeks, still others with angry eyes dripping with bloodlust. The Avenger’s technicians who weren’t assisting the doctors mingled among the men.

Back in the old base, they had celebrated the dead with a wake. It was an excuse for the soldiers to let loose (occasionally helped by copious amounts of alcohol.) The Commander would walk amongst the men, listening to their stories and soothing their fears. _It helps form unit cohesion_ , she had said. _We’re fighting an enemy who vastly overpowers us. It’s good to have someone at your back._

Bradford didn’t know how she did it. The closer he got to his men, the more he feared their inevitable deaths.

“Ana Ramirez of Mexico, Peter Osei of Nigeria, and Isra Yamani of Saudi Arabia. These men and women served well on the operation to get our Commander back.” Bradford locked his arms behind his back. “We will remember them as they lived: Ramirez, for her terrible jokes,” a small chuckle rippled through the assembly, “Osei, for his non-stop fiddling with machines, and Yamani, for the poems she’d leave scattered over the Avenger.

“Never forget what they fought for. When we break down the enemy’s fortresses, we’ll remember them. We’ll make the enemy fear their names.” Bradford saluted the wall. “May they rest in peace.”

Chairs and boots scraped against the floor, as the room saluted the fallen.

The men returned to quiet chatter and drinks, as Bradford left the memorial. He felt the eyes of the fallen on his back.

 

* * *

 

The trauma bay was quiet when he returned. The Menace team snored away in their cots – heavily bandaged, hooked up to a multitude of IVs and screens, but they were alive. Shen had already left, probably to tinker with the Avenger’s engines. She was obsessed with getting the bird to fly. Tygan was tucked away in the examining room, cleaning his hands at a sink.

“Central.” Tygan looked up, drying his hands on a paper towel. “The men report that you were injured as well.”

A sharp ache lanced through the Central Officer’s shoulder, as if to remind him, _you were shot_ – he checked his watch – _two hours ago. Should get that checked out_.

“Where’s the Commander?” he asked.

“Sleeping in the Quarters. Lily is monitoring her.” Tygan motioned to the examination table. “I need your clothes off to see the wound.”

Bradford sat down on the sterilized table. He began to peel off his shirt, wincing as his muscles groaned and throbbed in protest.

“Carefully!” Tygan pulled on a pair of gloves and helped extricate Bradford from the shirt.  The doctor folded up the ruined shirt before setting it aside in the laundry pile. “Do not aggravate that wound.”

“Now you tell me.”

Tygan selected a syringe and a vial from a medkit. “My apologies. I was a bit distracted.” He inserted a hypodermic needle and withdrew a small amount of clear liquid from the vial. “This will numb the area.”

“How long will she be out?” Bradford asked as the needle slid into his deltoid. Relief spread through his shoulder.

Tygan pulled the needle out and set it aside. “I am a biochemist, not that kind of doctor. I do not know for certain.” The scanner rolled to the bedside, a X-ray of his shoulder plastered across the screen. Tiny shards of metal floated in the black void between bones. “I had to rest for a few days. The Commander will be out for another day at the very least, until the stitches heal.”

“And if she isn’t?”

Dr. Tygan didn’t speak.

“Doctor,” he said warningly.

“If that is the case, we may need to look into other options,” Dr. Tygan finally said. He used a tool, similar to the one that extracted the chip out of the Commander’s head, to dig out the shards. “Rest for a day, and this should heal naturally.” Tygan’s face darkened. “We’re running low on supplies, Central. If something should happen…”

 

* * *

 

The moment he was released from the trauma bay, Bradford proceeded to ignore the doctor’s instructions and go up to the Bridge. He did his usual routine: ask local resistance groups for supplies like the world’s deadliest hobo, relay the good news to the Informant, make sure the Skyranger was loaded with enough ammunition to arm a small militia, ask the cooks to make soup for the injured… really, the work of a Central Officer was never over. But he liked it. It was a nice change from drinking himself stupid in some Ukrainian cave.

Speaking of drinking, he could really go for a whiskey… The good kind he stored below his bunk. Not the rotgut that had wiped his mind clean for the past twenty years.

Bradford shook himself. The Commander would be up any day now. And when she was, she would need her Central Officer ready for duty.

He dimly remembered this feeling from the old days. The pride. The purpose. The Commander.

It was around midnight when he finally retired to his quarters. The command staff – well, just him, really – had their rooms one level above the soldiers’ lounge and barracks. The bridge of the ship was just a short elevator ride away.

The door of the Commander’s Quarters slid open, admitting Bradford in. For over a year, the main room had remained empty. He slept in a small room nearby, not quite as comfortable, but he was used to worse.

In the center of the room, there were a group of leather seats, for when resistance leaders came over to voice their concerns, surrounding a coffee table. On the far side of the room, a tattered XCOM banner hung beside a bookcase holding some of the last books on Earth. Close to the bed, where Shen stood guard over the Commander, there was a series of terminals and communication relays. Warm yellow light dusted the room, casting away the darkness that pervaded so much of the ship. It almost felt welcoming.

Home. This dark, dank ship at the bottom of a dried out canyon – this was what passed for XCOM’s home.

“Everything all right, Shen?” he asked. Her puffy eyes said differently. Bradford remembered what Kundi said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's just another thing the aliens will pay for," Shen said.

The Commander stirred. “ _Xiang yu_ ,” she said, her voice almost lost in the whirr of air conditioning. “ _Ni zai na’r?”_

Shen shrugged. “She’s been talking on and off. I’m sorry, Central. I only know Taiwanese. But I think _xiang yu_ ’s a name. Do you recognize it?”

“Never heard of it.”

“ _Miska?_ ” the Commander asked.

“That, I do recognize. He was the chief of Base Security. Her brain’s probably rebooting.” He motioned at the door. “Get some food and some sleep, Shen. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

The Chief Engineer nodded, but her eyes were distant. “Understood, Central. See you tomorrow,” Shen called over her shoulder.

 

Bradford sat down on the couch. His eyes threatened to close. He shook his head, and glared down at the paperwork on his tablet. Tygan needed more bandages and whatever they could salvage from ADVENT. The resistance would help them, but only if he came up with a plan to get the supplies.

After half an hour, he set down the tablet. The monitors beeped in the background. If anything went wrong, alarms would start blaring. He could spare a few minutes.

The Central Officer shook his head. He could almost hear the Commander nagging him to take a break.

He leaned back in his seat. He still remembered the day he finally realized that the Commander was not a very feminine man. He was in Mission Control, in the quiet of what passed for night down in HQ. Hazurov was watching the communications terminal, chattering away.

 

* * *

_17 March 2015: XCOM HQ, Manhattan, Kansas  
_

“The Commander requested all non-combatants receive weapons training.” The XCOM Chief of Base Security shrugged. Bradford restrained a sigh. They were half a month into the XCOM project, had seen five engagements with the enemy, and the Commander relied more on a man who wouldn’t stop running his mouth than a seasoned professional. “Honestly, she’s just being paranoid. She’s been like that since we were kids–“

The Central Officer raised an eyebrow. “She?”

Hazurov grinned, like a kindergartener hiding a worm on the teacher’s chair. “You didn’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

“ _Mu Lan._ The Commander is named after a woman who cross-dressed to go to war.”

Bradford suddenly thought of his six-year old niece. “She’s named after a Disney movie. Well, at least it’s not Elsa.”

“The legend came first.”

After mulling it over, Bradford shrugged. “It’s not relevant to me. If the Council agreed on _someone_ , they must have had their reasons.”

“Just thought you should know.” Hazurov shrugged. “I know she’s… ambiguous when her hair’s short. But with her face, it gets her places a woman can’t go.”

“The XCOM Project–“

“With all due respect, Central, I’m trying to–“ Hazurov looked quickly to the main doors of Mission Control. His shoulders tensed. “-We’re not on the best of terms. I know she relies on me a lot. We both know people on the Council. Trust me. When she sends me off on something, it’s not because we’re buddies. There’s something worse out there.”

“There’s something out there besides the aliens?” Bradford filed that information away. “They aren’t on our side, are they.”

Hazurov’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. And worst of all–”

The doors of Mission Control slid open, revealing the Commander.

“Miska, new orders for you,” she said.

“On it, _mila_.” Hazurov stood and stretched. “What do you need?”

“All your informants on the outside, and I want it by tomorrow night.” She handed him her tablet. “Central, you should know this too. Nigeria is threatening to withdraw from the XCOM project.”

Bradford took a step back. “What? But we stopped an abduction there!” He could almost see the specter of Corporal Briem standing by the Hologlobe. She had been killed, when the aliens revealed their newest toy: the Muton. “Their panic went down! They even gave us a team of engineers!”

“Someone bombed the capital.” The Commander crossed her arms. “We don’t know how many dead. We don’t even know if the perps were alien, or human.”

 

* * *

 

Bradford shook himself. Nigeria withdrew from the project one month into the XCOM project, taking their engineers and their soldiers back. He wondered if Osei was born in the hellhole that Nigeria became after the aliens seized it. Not that it really mattered. Osei was with the rest of Old XCOM’s men.

He could really use a drink.

Bradford looked to the corner of the room, where the Commander slept.

…maybe after she woke up.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naming this chapter "Operation: operation" was a bit too obvious.
> 
> There are Indian wolves in Pakistan. This is why we use binomial nomenclature, or stick with line-of-sight naming.
> 
> Bradford is laying it a bit thick, but in return, I present this from the XCOM book.  
> "For an instant, something hitched within him, and he remembered how he’d felt back then.  
> The pride. The purpose.  
> The Commander."
> 
> In this story, XCOM lasts for about four-five months. The aliens are a lot more aggressive than they normally are in the game.


	6. Furud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In most civilized countries, solitary confinement is considered torture. Unfortunately, Weiss’s captors don’t seem to listen to the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Furud: the Solitary Ones star, of the Canis Major constellation.
> 
> This chapter references episodes of RWBY's volume 3: "Lessons Learned," and "Heroes and Monsters." Spoilers ahead.

Green wasn’t really Weiss’s color. After this debacle, she could happily spend her entire life in the frozen north of Atlas if meant she never had to see this shade of lime-green light again.

She looked down at her arm. Weiss had developed a rudimentary system of time-keeping. Like a bird kept in a cage, she had begun to scratch at her arms when she noticed something interesting. If she scratched hard enough to bleed, the green light would dissipate and be replaced by white light. When she next regained consciousness, the bleeding would have stopped, and the skin would begin healing. There seemed to be a set period in which the white light would come to heal her: if she scratched open the wound right after regaining consciousness, it would bleed until the next bout of white light. It wasn’t the best way to keep time, but it gave her a sense of purpose.

According to her skin-clock, one cycle had passed since Mu Lan stopped talking. The longest she had ever gone without talking was thirty-six cycles.

 _“_ _I might not be able to contact you again_ _,”_ she could almost hear Mu Lan say, _“_ _but after this attack, I’ll find you. I promise._ _”_

 _You’d better_ _, Weiss thought._ _I’m going to go nuts in here_ _._

She wanted to stretch, but her muscles refused to obey. Weiss rolled her eyes, glad that her captors allowed her freedom to move her face. She shuddered at the thought of being completely locked in, like a little porcelain doll in a rich grandmother’s cabinet.

That thought was a little too similar to her current predicament.

Weiss almost wanted to go back – give up on the Huntress life, get a cushy job as the Heiress of the Schnee Dust Company, and be useful for once. But that train of thought just made her feel guilty – her company was responsible for countless atrocities towards the Faunus people. She could not, in good conscience, continue on her father’s path.

Besides, that path was lonely. As a huntress, she always had team RWBY.

 _I wonder how Ruby is doing_. Her partner’s exuberance would be a nice change. How could it have annoyed her so during their time at Beacon? The ruby-cloaked reaper was full of life, as if spring itself flowed through her veins. _She would have a plan to get us out of here. We wouldn’t have to wait for someone else–_

A scream cut through the quiet.

Weiss wanted to clap her hands to her ears, but the scream was inside her head, and how could she flee from that? The pain drilled into her skull, cutting into somewhere behind her eyes. An invisible band seemed to tighten around her head. Blood throbbed–

Similar cries of pain echoed through her chamber.

 _Ruby! Yang! Blake_! Weiss gritted her teeth. She could hear her friends screaming, they were so close, how did Mu Lan do it? It had something to do with that bluish energy. _I’m here!_

Purple sparks crept into her jail. Her friends were silenced.

_No! Guys! Please, don’t leave me in here!_

Nobody answered.

Weiss took a shuddering breath, and collapsed into tears.

 _I don’t know if I can handle this anymore…_ The light lost its grip on Weiss long enough to let her sag. _I don’t want to be alone anymore…_

 

* * *

  

When she next awoke, a bright white light shone down on her. Weiss frowned and blinked hard. The light didn’t change. Why was she awake? Typically, the minute the white light appeared, she lost consciousness.

Something had changed. She had no doubt it was something terrible.

 _Look for patterns. What can I use_?

She turned her head as far as it could go. Thick, gooey white strands suspended Weiss in some sort of cocoon with glassy walls. The strands wrapped around her arms, barely touched her torso, and were heavy around her legs. Web-like protrusions crept around the outside: they thickened at the top of the cocoon, thinned out in the center, then rejoined at the bottom.

 _No spider has this sort of pattern. It’s not that great for restraining me, either_.

“At last,” said the earthquake voice of Tinia. Weiss recognized the purple energy associated with him – it was streaked with dark swirls and had a mistier quality. Older, more worn, like the weathered cliffs of Atlas compared to the outcrop on which her school sat.  “Our brethren have found a breakthrough. The loss of your project, Daimones, is regrettable.”

“It did its purpose.” Weiss growled – she had come to detest this cracked voice that reminded her of a crumbling seashell bleached by the sun. “But its loss has greatly weakened our armies. We will have to use the replacement to rally our troops.”

“It had developed ties with the other subjects. Such a shame,” Tinia said. His energy floated closer, brushing against the white strands holding Weiss prisoner. Galvanized, the strands sent out tiny rootlets that crept up the heiress’s neck. “It will compromise the use of this one.”

_Use?_

Weiss’s eyes widened. She struggled against the strands.

“Or perhaps it will aid us,” Daimones said. “Its power is very different from this subject’s. Perhaps the connections between the two will allow us to harness this one.”

Aura suddenly pulsed through her body, fighting against the white strands. Weiss jerked in their hold, but they bored into her veins and down the pathways channeling her soul’s power. She could resist – the strands seemed reluctant to touch the white glow of her Aura – but every minute was agony. The strands still managed to siphon some of her energy. She could see the glow traveling down into the base of the cocoon.

 _I’m a battery_ , she realized.

She screamed and lashed out.

“Strange,” said the melodic voice of Angelis, “the subject does not seem to create the effect you desired, Daimones.” 

The air shifted, letting in a tendril of light blue energy. The purple energy associated with her captors did not seem to notice it.

The blue energy curled upwards, and took form. Weiss could almost see Winter, floating before her. Her sister merely grinned and held out a hand. A small, elaborate glyph floated over her palm, glowing the snow white of the Schnee family’s Aura.

 _Your Semblance is like a muscle_ , the memory whispered, _the more you practice with it, the stronger it will become. But if you only focus on one aspect of it…_

This time, the world did not disappear in a bright flash. Weiss saw the Beowolf – the wolf-like monster that haunted the Emerald Forest outside beacon – take shape from the pool of light. White, fluffy light replaced the oozing black fur – its bone mask looked soft, like velvet. But instead of the icy blue that was the trait of her sister’s summoned monsters, the Beowolf’s eyes were a light sky blue.

 _If you fail to test the limits of what you think is possible,_ Winter said, as the Beowolf nuzzled her neck, _then you'll never truly grow._

Her sister dissipated.

 _Winter!_ Weiss cried. She tried to reach for the air where her sister had stood. _Damn it. They are not taking my sister too!_

A glyph glowed on the back of her hand.

Weiss had a feeling she had done this before.

She thought of Ruby, and Blake, and Yang, and the brief moment when she had heard them. They were alive. Weiss wasn’t alone. And maybe she would find Winter, and the two sisters would make up for all their lost time. She had something to fight for.

Weiss gritted her teeth, and drove her soul’s power into the white strands.

A tiny sword popped into existence. Her heart dropped. Was this all that her soul could summon? It was a remnant of the Giant Knight possessed by a Grimm, her initiation test to enter Beacon. It wasn’t even a sixtieth of the original’s size!

She screamed.

The sword flashed up, and severed the connections.

She dropped to the cocoon’s floor, and curled up.

 

“ _It seems that your project was not compatible with the subject_ ,” Angelis said with a hint of amusement.

 _“There are others_ ,” Daimones replied, but the frustration in his voice was clear. _“We have plundered this world for those who already used the potential. We did not even have to conquer the potential wielders – their leaders handed them to us. Sooner or later, one will crack_.”

A swirling vortex of Angelis’s energy lifted Weiss into the air.

“ _Perhaps you need a different approach_ ,” she said. _“Start with a simple, more generous soul_. _The project will surely help us if it knows this is for the greater good._ ”

Darkness crept into the corners of Weiss’s vision.

 _Ruby… Blake… Yang… I’ll find you_ , she promised.

_Mu Lan… you had better keep your promise too._

 

 


	7. Operation: Brutal Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander awakens… wait, wrong movie.

Bradford set his tablet on the coffee table, disturbing the neat stacks of cards he had set out for a game of solitaire. He sighed. Solitaire was easy to clean up and kept his mind from wandering into trauma territory. It wasn’t Civilization, or any of the Star Wars games, but he took what he could.

Since the rescue, he had double-checked, triple-checked, and generally made sure everything was in order aboard the Avenger. All they needed was the magnetic converter to get the bird flying. Then XCOM would be ready for the Commander to take the helm.

Sheets shifted on the cot in the corner.

Bradford walked over. Tygan had warned him to keep an eye on the Commander, lest she wake up in a panic and injure herself. Not that there had been much to watch. The Commander had spent the past four days lapsing in and out of consciousness, occasionally muttering foreign names or those of former XCOM personnel. Unconsciousness would soon claim her, and Bradford would drench the hope swelling in his chest.

Today was different. Her eyes were opening.

He grabbed the painkillers and a bottle of water from the cabinet, and waited by the bedside.

Her head tossed and turned.

The Commander’s eyes finally stayed open. Though bleary, her gaze hovered on the knife on his shoulder.

“Glad to see you’re finally coming out of it.” He shook his head. Her eyes went to his face, pupils immediately contracting into tiny black dots. “Don’t envy the headache you must have though. Still, can’t fault Dr. Tygan. Especially as no one’s even attempted something like this before.”

The Commander dug an elbow into the bed and tried to rise, but he raised a hand. “Easy. We’re still not exactly sure what they did to you. That chip was buried halfway into your skull.”

She slumped back onto the pillows. Her hair flowed in dark waves around her head, as if she was a drowned corpse washed up on the shore. Bradford looked away to give her some privacy. It didn’t seem right, to see the Commander this weak. Or with hair that wasn't shorn into a crew cut.

“Who…” she wet her lips, “who– _Bradford_?”

“Been a while,” Bradford said with a shrug.

The Commander’s gaze darted around the room. “Not XCOM base. This is… we were…” She clutched her head. “I-I just saw… fuck…”

“In pain?”

She touched the base of her chin and winced. “A little.”

Bradford shook out two painkillers from a canister, then handed her a bottle of water. The Commander’s hands shook as she downed the pills. Water slopped over the front of her plain t-shirt, but she managed to lift the bottle to her lips. She drank greedily, throat bobbing with large gulps.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” he said.

The Commander set down the empty bottle. She looked at the scar below his eye. Her fingers trailed over her cheeks. “Your face is different. Why isn’t mine? What happ–” She laughed bitterly. “Good genes. Of course I haven't changed. How many years, since we lost?”

“Twenty.”

“We failed to defend the base.” The Commander rubbed her eyes. “I… I should have evacuated us earlier…”

(– _“Sir! We have to go, now!” – a Muton’s roar, the flash of plasma – the screams, the fire, the blood pouring into his eyes – “Doctor!” – Vahlen was bleeding, but she waved him off – “All is well, just run!”–_ )

Bradford breathed in. The knife on his shoulder rose with the heave of his chest, its weight solid against his skin. He wouldn’t be taken unaware this time.

“Wouldn’t have changed a thing. Someone sold us out.”

“And I was taken captive.”

He nodded. “Lost a lot of good soldiers looking for you over the years. Almost gave up hope you were still out there. Acted on the intel as soon as I got word.”

She took a deep breath. “I need a minute to process this.”

Bradford went towards the door, but paused near the sofas.

“Not sure what you remember, but a lot’s changed. Did the best I could, but the last 20 years… have been tough without you.” Something softened in the Commander’s eyes. He gestured at the corner of the room, avoiding her gaze. “You… feel like catching up, Shen has the archive up and running on your terminal.” Bradford jerked his head at the corridor outside the room. “Otherwise, I’d go see Dr. Tygan when you’re ready. There’s some things you should know. He’ll be better at explaining them than me.”

The Central Officer strode towards the corridor. He glanced over his shoulder.

“It’s damn good to have you back, Commander,” and that was all he allowed himself to say.

She raised a hand and gave him the diver’s OK: index and thumb forming a ring, remaining fingers splayed.

“Reporting for duty, Central.”

If he was smiling while he descended the stairs to the Control Room, the technicians didn’t comment.

 

* * *

 

“I heard you, Shen. When we get the thing, you’ll be the first to know.”

Bradford bit back a hiss of annoyance. The junior Shen was almost the opposite of her father: firebrand when he was placid, a spring in constant motion while he was steady like an I-beam. What the two family members shared was a common desire to see mankind free.

Behind him, technician Evora was attempting to stabilize the Hologlobe. Once they got the Hologlobe up, XCOM would be able to monitor points of interest and guerilla operations 24/7. That is, if they got the damn thing working.

Other technicians were working the terminals, refining the controls for human usage. One of the numerous downsides of repurposing an alien transport ship – one that XCOM had personally shot down – was that most of the technology was… well, alien. They couldn’t just strip out the alien tech – it kept the damn ship running. It was difficult to integrate something humans could use within the existing framework. At least, that’s what the doctors Shen had said. Bradford trusted their experience more than his own.

Alarms suddenly burst into life. Bradford wheeled around.

At the doorway to the Bridge, the Commander was bathed in red light. Little lights flickered over her shoulders, as the ship’s AI attempted to recognize her genetic sequence.

Damn it. He _had_ forgotten something.

“ATTENTION. UNAUTHORIZED PRESENCE DETECTED,” the AI announced.

Bradford held up a hand. “Commander. Give me a second.” He limped forward, until he was directly beneath the scanner. “Execute Echelon Protocol.”

A bell dinged. “SENIOR COMMAND EXCHANGE CONFIRMED.”

Bradford silently cursed out the AI. He liked Dr. Shen’s – Raymond, not Lily – version much better: at least that AI had some brains. Lily’s version was… well, more dedicated to keeping the base safe if the aliens should attack again.

So much for impressing the Commander.

“I had wanted that to be a little more… ceremonious,” Bradford said. A small smile parted the Commander's lips as she walked forward. Bradford mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for déjà vu. “But we’ve got something,” he continued, pointing at a nearby terminal. What looked like an overgrown Lego brick, with corkscrew studs, glowed blue on screen. “A local resistance cell just located this ‘hybrid magnetic converter’ that Shen’s been pushing us to find.” One of the studs popped out, revealing something that resembled a Chinese lantern.

Bradford flicked his hand. The chip Shen had inserted below his skin sent signals to the screen. The scene changed to an overhead thermal of three trucks, and humanoid figures fighting below, taken by a GREMLIN drone Shen had loaned to the resistance cell.

The Commander’s gaze hovered on the resistance fighters. “Spacing,” she murmured, “they won’t make it.”

“They tracked the device to a nearby ADVENT convoy and are attempting to take it down.” White streaks flashed across the screen, as the GREMLIN recorded the crackle of gunfire. One of the trucks exploded. “If we can bring this ‘converter’ back in one piece, we might actually get this place up and running.” Bradford tried to ignore how the Hologlobe was shrinking and growing like an overgrown heart to the side. “And give the aliens a real war for a change.”

She crossed her arms. “What do we have on the site?”

“Not much. A location, the converter, and that’s it. A squad is prepped and ready to launch on your order, Commander. Just give the word.”  
 

* * *

 

On the way to the Armory to brief the soldiers, Bradford filled the Commander in on the situation. Gone were the days that they had a flood of new recruits from all over the globe - at least back then, most of them knew how to hold a gun. Gone were the days that Council nations would give them engineers or scientists as a reward. Hell, the Resistance was lucky if they could nab a defector from ADVENT like Tygan. It wasn't like the last outposts of humanity had centrifuges or gallons of volatile chemicals or even teachers to keep the knowledge going.

The Avenger had only a skeleton crew to keep her running. Everyone on board played multiple roles: a soldier would double as an engineer; a technician would also prepare the crew's meals; he himself served as the Central Officer of XCOM, both past and present, guerilla fighter and spymaster. Bradford had maintained a rudimentary network, though its efficacy wavered over the decades. Through it, he had gained some experienced personnel - Firebrand, a pilot from Saskatchewan who had five years of flying under her belt when ADVENT took over - Tygan himself, rescued from an ADVENT cell - but precious few soldiers. Still, he hoped the Commander would appreciate the trained men.

“–Sergeant Odinson made it?” Something danced in the Commander’s eyes. “I pity the aliens already.”

(“ _Strike 3-2, the hell are you doing?” Bradford demanded over the com. To the Central Officer’s eternal frustration, the Assault was undaunted by the severity of the situation. Odinson cheered, “For the Great Commandy One!” and rushed the aliens with a grenade in hand._ )

Bradford coughed. He was glad that the Commander didn't ask him why his network wasn't bigger. That would require a lengthy explanation of how he restarted XCOM four times, only for his men to be slaughtered each time.

“If he doesn’t drive us crazy first. Unfortunately, all but one of the Gatecrasher team was badly injured. They’ll need at least two weeks to heal up. The only one with experience on this op is Jane Kelly. She earned enough experience for a promotion. Given her performance in the field, I assigned her as a Ranger,” Bradford said. To his dismay, the Commander shook her head. “Would you prefer–“

“Central, translate to Heavy, Assault, Support and Sniper?” the Commander asked with a wry grin. “I’ve been out of the game for a while.”

Kelly was already swinging her machete around when they walked in. “We’ve had to adapt our strategies, so the old classes had to go. We focus on striking from the shadows when we can,” Bradford said. “The Ranger serves as our primary reconnaissance unit, capable of moving independently in concealment while engaging enemies at close range.”

The Commander coughed.

“Something wrong, sir?”

She waved him off, pressing a hand to her mouth. Bradford thought he saw the hint of a smile behind her hand. “Been on my feet for a while. Don’t worry.”

Kelly finally noticed them. The Ranger sheathed her blade and snapped into a salute. “Sir! Braun, Devgan, Urist and I are ready to deploy!”

The Commander saluted her back. “At ease, Kelly. Where are the others?”

“Kelly’s fucking crazy,” Urist muttered as the other three emerged from the Armory’s depths. “She’s gonna slice us up before we get to the aliens– sir!”

The Commander looked at Kelly. The Irishwoman backed away, tail between her legs. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but save the dicing for the aliens.” She motioned to the soldiers, then the table at the far end of the room. “Sit, please.”

They reviewed what they knew (magnetic converter unstable, Shen had created a software to stabilize it once they got close enough), how to recover the converter once stabilized (very carefully), a rudimentary plan (stick to the shadows, don't bunch up and tempt the enemy into grenading you, attack only when in full cover) and the chain of command.

Bradford was just a little bit surprised that the soldiers’ attention was riveted on the Commander. When he had to round them up for a mission, they usually wouldn’t stop shivering, as if Death already had its bony hands on their shoulders. He took that as a good sign.

“Have any of you besides Kelly gone on a mission?” the Commander asked. The three rookies shook their heads. “All right. If communications get cut off, Kelly is Menace 1-5. She’s in charge of keeping you alive until we can pick you up. Got it?” Kelly nodded. “Once you get some experience, I’ll let you handle the ops on your own. For now, follow my orders, and we’ll get you back home. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” the soldiers barked.

The Commander stood. “All right. Good hunting, men.”

 

* * *

 

As the Skyranger flew over to the Pyrenees of Southern France, Bradford took the time to acquaint the Commander with the Avenger’s technology. It was almost suspicious, the speed at which she picked it up. She parsed through the jumbled numbers and alien text like she had been reading it for the past twenty years.

While she worked on a fleshed-out plan, Bradford kept a constant stream of information running between the Skyranger and the resistance. It wasn’t looking good: the footage from the GREMLIN grew increasingly shakier, as ADVENT forces swarmed the resistance.

In the thirty minutes it took for the Skyranger to arrive, the GREMLIN stopped transmitting.

“Communications with resistance forces in the area have gone dark… which can only mean one thing. These people sacrificed everything to give us this shot,” he said as the Skyranger neared the drop point. “We need to recover that converter at all costs.”

“Central, this is Firebrand,” the Skyranger’s pilot reported, “deploying now. How copy?”

“Solid copy.” Bradford looked at his terminal. “Commander, getting a fix on the device. Looks like it may have been damaged during the fight. Energy readings are going crazy. I’m guessing we don’t have much time before it explodes.”

The Commander’s terminal lit up with four different body cams.

The Pyrenean wilderness was still cold, despite the normally mild late February weather. He could hear the hiss of breath and shivering of the operatives. Dusk hung heavy over the mountains, stifling the crackle of fires burning in the distance. Snow dusted every available surface, even the pine trees the aliens had transplanted to stabilize the ground and the dark asphalt of the road that wended its way up the slopes. About half a kilometer or so from the team's position, the alien convoy sat like a group of black, bulky beetles in the snowdrifts. Boulders and rough wooden barricades dotted the landscape. The air was still, as if the world held its breath under the coverlet of snow.

“I hoped we had helmet cams,” she said.

"Sorry, sir. Don't have the supplies for that."

"It's just like the old days." The Commander touched her mike. “Menace 1-5, tell me what you see.”

“The convoy is about half a klick away, down the highway,” Kelly reported. “There’s a bright green glowing thing, maybe 2 meters tall, and it’s sending out sparks.”’

A flash of blue light lit up all four operatives’ body cams.

Bradford’s tablet chimed. “We have sixteen minutes, Commander.”

 

“Any sign of the enemy?” the Commander asked. “Tracks, shell casings?”

Kelly’s body cam bobbed. “Not that I see… you guys get anything?”

“Sir, I’ve got these weird footprints.” Urist’s camera focused on a set of human-like footprints. But thin webbing linked the toes, and the soles were too long to be human. Besides, what human would walk barefoot in the snow? The outlines of the prints were crisp, cleanly contrasting the brown mud below.

“There's aliens, not just ADVENT, on site,” the Commander said. “Anybody hear footsteps? Crunching snow?”

They responded in the negative.

“All right. Kelly, you’re on point. Get to that pile of supply crates and tell me what you see.”

Kelly’s cam shook as she ran to the designated cover. “I’ve got ADVENT," she hissed. A plume of hot breath appeared on her chest camera. "They’re patrolling perpendicular to the road. One Captain, two troopers.”

The ADVENT foot soldiers appeared onscreen. The Captain’s red cloak fluttered slightly, caught in the mountain breeze.

“The Captains seem more capable than the grunts,” Bradford said. The Commander nodded, eyes flicking back and forth between the chest cameras. “We’re not sure whether to chalk it up to training or stricter mind control.”

“Urist, take cover behind the boulders by the three burnt-out cars.” The Commander gave similar orders to Braun and Devgan, but she moved them to the other side of the road.

“Fourteen minutes,” Bradford said. He glanced at the message from Shen. “OK, you should be able to hack into that thing’s safety protocols and stabilize it. Shen is uploading the fix right now.”

XCOM’s soldiers crept up the highway, keeping out of the patrol's line of sight. The clatter of their teeth, and the clicking of their fingers against their guns, filtered over their com channels.

“You’re doing well,” the Commander said softly as Kelly crouched behind a thick pine. “Almost there.”

The clicking slowly stopped.

On the back of a flatbed truck, the converter glowed green. If it weren’t for the boxy black designs that characterized ADVENT supplies, the truck wouldn’t have looked out of place trundling across the highways of his native Kansas.

Two more ADVENT troopers stood by a stopped truck, three meters away from the converter. They jabbered away in the alien tongue.

“Commander, we have a chance to do some serious damage,” Bradford said. “Before jumping into combat, let’s make sure we make the most of our advantage.”

The Commander nodded her thanks. “Braun, Devgan, you two will flank the officers by the converter. Overwatch.”

“Sir, what does that mean?” Braun asked.

“Get ready to shoot, dumbass,” Devgan hissed, "weren't you listening?"

“Thank you, Devgan. Urist, have a grenade ready for the two ADVENT troopers by the transport. Kelly, advance to that supply crate directly behind the converter.”

Bradford looked at his tablet. “Ten minutes, Commander.”

“Kelly? Shoot the captain.”

“My pleasure,” the Ranger said, her gun moving into her camera’s line of sight.

Gunshots rang out. The ADVENT Captain recoiled, orange blood spraying from his wounds.

 

It pointed a red-gauntleted hand at the patrol and jabbered. The ADVENT troopers scattered.

“We’ve been revealed! Going hot!” Braun said. He fired at the first trooper that came rushing down the road, nailing it in the chest. The trooper sank to the ground, and did not move.

Devgan fired on the other trooper. His aim was a bit off. His bullets barely clipped the trooper’s leg. Orange blood dripped into the snow, but the trooper was still moving. “Damn, I missed,” he said, drawing back behind the scattered crates.

“Urist, change of plans, grenade that Captain,” the Commander said.

Urist pulled the pin out of her grenade. She let it beep two times, then tossed it at the ADVENT Captain and the remaining troopers. The Commander’s terminal briefly whited out in a flash of light, before showing off the limp bodies strewn across the snow.

The injured ADVENT trooper raised its gun and fired at Urist. The bullets went wide, and struck a nearby truck.

“Braun! Get away from that truck!” the Commander said.

The soldier ran away just before the truck burst into thousands of metallic shards. The Commander's screen flickered. When the image stabilized, it revealed the vehicle's burnt out husk and the trooper running for better cover. Hot flames licked the highway by the converter.

Bradford checked his tablet. Five minutes. “Commander, we’re running outta time here. If we don’t stabilize that converter soon, I don’t think anybody’s going home today….”

“Sir! Permission to upload the fix,” Kelly said.

“Permission granted. Urist, advance to the crates in front of converter and overwatch,” the Commander said as Kelly hurried forward. “Braun, there’s a patrol heading down the highway. Get your grenade ready. Devgan, kill that trooper, then watch Kelly’s back.”

Devgan aimed, and fired. The trooper screamed as the bullets exited its head.

Kelly pressed her tablet against the converter.

“ACCESS GRANTED,” her tablet boomed.

Her screen flashed up on Bradford’s tablet: she was guaranteed to disarm the detonator, but according to the rewards, she could either get insight on alien tech, or gain a lead on an Alien Facility.

“Sir, that Facility Lead’s looking good,” Kelly said. Her fingers shook on the tablet, probably from the cold. “Want me to go for that?”

The Commander gave a thumbs up. “Go for it,” Bradford said, for the officer who could not see.

Kelly began to hack into the converter’s workings. However, it seemed she needed a little more experience, because she came nowhere near unlocking the Facility Lead. Ah well. Bradford made a mental note: get someone to teach the rookies how to hack.

The converter began to glow a peaceful blue.

Shen sent a very gleeful message on his tablet.

Bradford shook his head. “Well done,” he said, tapping his mike, “readings are returning to normal. Firebrand is en route, but I wouldn’t take any chances-“

“Watch your flank!” Urist shouted, and fired. The Central Officer looked at the Commander’s screen: an ADVENT trooper slumped against a burning truck.

“Eliminate all remaining hostiles in the area,” Bradford finished.

The trooper had reinforcements: two more troopers, and a Sectoid. One of the uglier aliens ADVENT had to offer, with a flaming red light glowing behind its rib cage and a lighter glow encircling the bulbous skull. The Sectoid had a mouth full of uneven, gnashing teeth. It stood at seven feet tall, with unusually spidery legs and arms. Some black device was strapped to its forearm.

“The hell is that?” the Commander said. “A roided out Sectoid?”

“Gross!” Urist said. “It’s dripping black goo!”

“I can see its hipbones, that can’t be healthy,” Devgan said as he took a shot and missed.

Dr. Tygan had stayed quiet for the duration of the mission, but now he spoke up. “Although they bear some resemblance to the Sectoids first encountered during the invasion, their genetic structure now includes human DNA. They’re stronger than ever, with an even greater psionic potential.”

“Everyone reload,” the Commander said. “It’s about to get nasty.”

“How did you know there was a patrol there?” Kelly asked as she hopped down from the flatbed.

The Commander smiled grimly beside him. “Obvious place. I would’ve put one there. Focus on the Sectoid, men.”

 

XCOM scattered to positions with better cover. The ADVENT troopers darted into the cover of the non-burning trucks. Meanwhile, the Sectoid threw an arm laced with white energy into the air. The air was tinged with purple around its arm. Its head glowed a brilliant white, energy bursting off its skull in sharp spikes, sending a thick tendril of psionic power towards Devgan.

“Get it out of– everything is fine,” Devgan said, his voice suddenly monotone.

He raised his gun, and pointed it at Urist.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ,_ ” the Commander muttered. “Urist, move!”

“Everyone focus your fire on the Sectoid!” Bradford said. The Commander looked at him as Urist fled to the cover of a burning truck. Devgan followed his fellow squaddie with a hail of bullets. “Sorry, sir.”

“It’s good. Take over for me,” she said. “I’m going to talk Devgan out of it.”

Bradford took a deep breath. He could do this. The Commander was here. This wouldn’t be another Operation Devil’s Moon.

In the mean time, Kelly had panicked. Ragged breaths filtered through her mike. She was taking potshots at the aliens until her gun ran dry.

“Reload, soldier,” Bradford said. “Take a deep breath, and fire on that Sectoid.”

Onscreen, Kelly fumbled a fresh clip into her gun.

She fired somewhere in the general direction of the Sectoid. Her shot went wide and hit a trooper in the shoulder.

“Braun, kill the trooper Kelly injured,” Bradford said.

Braun also missed.

Beside him, the Commander kept a steady stream of soft words to the mind-controlled soldier’s private channel. “You’re not going to fight your friends, Devgan.” To Bradford’s horror, Devgan’s fingers were moving towards the grenade on his chest. It _was_ Devil’s Moon all over again. “Devgan!” the Commander repeated. “You are not fighting us. The aliens are controlling you. Listen to me! We’re your friends. Stand down.”

“Urist, take down the trooper on your left,” Bradford said.

Urist popped up from behind the burning truck and proceeded to miss completely.

“That’s XCOM, baby,” the Commander muttered. “Devgan. Stand down! That’s an order!”

Devgan collapsed into the slush. The psionic tendril between the Sectoid and XCOM soldier began to dissipate.

The Sectoid, perhaps sensing that its prey was no longer under its control, sent another tendril towards the corpse of the ADVENT Captain. The Captain groaned, the sound bellowing like the souls of the damned in the depths of hell, and got up from the pool of orange blood.

“Even for ADVENT, there’s no respite for the dead,” Tygan said solemnly.

The Commander sighed, and took a deep breath.

Something seeped into the air, as if someone had opened a window into the drafty Bridge. Tygan straightened up from his slouch. Bradford stood taller. It was like someone had breathed fire into their bones.

“Braun, reload, and try again. Take down that trooper,” Bradford said.

Braun did so. This time, he didn’t miss.

“Urist, the other trooper,” Bradford ordered.

Urist fired. The shot went through the trooper’s head in a burst of white brains.

“Braun, Urist, get away from those trucks,” Bradford said. The two scurried away before the trucks could explode. The Central Officer scanned his tablet – the only aliens left were the Sectoid and the reanimated trooper. “Now take care of that zombie!”

“Is that what they are?” Urist said, reloading her weapon.

“We can quibble on the specifics later,” Braun replied, as he also reloaded.

“Kelly. That Sectoid’s stayed alive a little too long,” the Commander said. A hiss of hesitation came over the com channel. “It’s too busy fucking around with its psionics to shoot you. You want it dead?”

“Yes, sir!” the Ranger responded. It seemed that she too could feel the fire.

“Slash it.”

“On my way!” Kelly rushed over, pulling out her machete as she leapt over puddles of blood and slush. She swiped, cleaving a large wound across the Sectoid’s front. Guts dripped out of the body, but the Sectoid merely hissed and leveled its gun at her.

“Commander!” Bradford said.

A vicious smile spread up the Commander’s lips. “Devgan, now.”

Bradford hadn’t noticed, but Devgan had crept to the cover of a nearby tree. He rushed over, pressed the muzzle of his gun to the Sectoid’s chest, and fired.

Yellow gore sprayed Kelly as the Sectoid died.

Silence fell over the battlefield.

“…Is it over?” Braun asked.

“…Status confirmed.” Bradford shook himself, but the warmth still flowed through his body. “The AO is clear of hostiles. Status confirmed, mission accomplished. Menace 1-5, start loading up the converter.”

The Commander laughed beside him and stretched. The picture vividly reminded him of a wolf readying to pounce.

"Oh, it's good to be back," she said.

 

* * *

 

Once the Skyranger was en route with its cargo in tow, Bradford took the time to discuss promotions with the Commander. The warmth had faded from his veins, but he still felt oddly aggressive. If a Muton charged onto the bridge, Bradford wouldn’t think twice before going to wrestle it.

 _That kind of thinking will get you killed_ , he chided himself. _Or, rather, lack of thinking_.

The Commander looked up from her tablet. “–Central, if you promote Devgan to _sharpshooter_ , I swear…”

“Read it again, Commander. I circled Specialist.”

The Commander rubbed her eyes and looked down. “My apologies, Central. As long as it’s anything but Sharpshooter.” She ran a hand through her long hair. “It’s good to see that rookies haven’t changed since the old days.

The Central Officer snorted. “In the old days, Devgan would had shot his teammates before you could do anything.”

“More likely the ground at his teammates’ feet.”

They shared a quiet, if somewhat strained laugh, at the previous rookies’ expense.

He looked at his superior. She was the picture of the Commander he remembered from the old days: outwardly serene, but her eyes were always watching the world around her. Still, there seemed to be something else on her mind.

“Sir?”

The Commander frowned. “I feel like I’m forgetting something…” She stared at the screen displaying the soldiers in the Skyranger. “Something about summer…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Random Number God is a cruel mistress.
> 
> Close Range reference: spoilers from Enemy Within  
> 6:10, then 20:36, on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16fU8OUCimk
> 
> OPERATION: Brutal Ghost  
> Soldiers deployed  
> \- Squad Leader, Menace 1-5 (Sp. Jane Kelly) = Ranger  
> \- Rk. Urist, Anwen = promotion to Grenadier  
> \- Rk. Braun, Lukas = promotion to Sharpshooter  
> \- Rk. Devgan, Saqib = promotion to Specialist


	8. And So it Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the real terrorists were inside us all along.
> 
> Bradford wraps up after Operation: Brutal Ghost.

The Menace team came down the Skyranger’s ramp to the cheers of the technicians and their fellow soldiers. Wide grins shone on every face. For the first time in recent memory, there were no medics rushing into the passenger bay or bodybags gently carried out by solemn teammates.

“And we’re still alive!” Braun punched the air with a gloved fist. “Up yours, ADVENT!”

“Well done, men.” Bradford saluted them, fixing his face into what he hoped looked like a proud smile. It wouldn't do for them to see how much that comment stung. “Sounds like some of you are ready for promotions.”

“Excellent work!” The Commander nodded at the soldiers. “Get yourself some dinner. We’ll talk about the mission in an hour on the Bridge.”

“Yes sir!” Menace team shouted as they saluted, then hurried off to lock up their weapons.

The technicians began shooing the crowd away as they took over the Hanger. Agreste and Evora hauled a cart into the Skyranger’s passenger bay and began dragging the converter onto it. Others began loading the corpses of ADVENT’s footsoldiers into crates. Tygan would be busy, after the scientist figured out the function of the chip buried in the Commander’s head.

“Need anything, sir?” Bradford asked when the Commander didn’t move.

She motioned to the Armory. "Wanted to confirm a suspicion."

Braun playfully punched Devgan’s shoulder as the Menace team exited. “First time holding a gun, rookie?”

Devgan pushed his hand off. “I know how to shoot! Just… nerves.”

“Some nerves,” Urist said, ruffling the shorter man’s hair. “Come on, they’re aliens. They’re gross, and icky, but at least they don’t go squish when they die!”

Devgan foisted his hands into the pockets of his body armor. “Buzz off, Anwen.”

Kelly pushed the trio apart. “Not in front of the Commander, rookies.”

The air felt warmer, as if Bradford were cupping a candle in his hands. “You’re doing fine, Specialist Devgan,” the Commander said.

Devgan looked up, and the lines creasing his forehead eased. “Thanks, sir,” he mumbled, tossing off a lazy salute.

As the Menace team left for the mess hall, the Commander slumped forward. The warmth seeping into the air dissipated. He started, ready to catch her if she fell. God, he had pushed his commanding officer too far today. She had only woken up a few hours ago, after God knows how long in the stasis suit.

The Commander laughed, and ran a hand through her hair. The ends falling over her shoulders looked shorter, and ragged, as if she had cut some of it off using a machete. “I apologize for the alarm. It seems I could use some dinner as well.”

“You know the way to the mess hall?”

“COMMANDER TO ENGINEERING,” the ship’s AI announced.

“No rest for the wicked,” the Commander said, looking around the Hangar. “There… wouldn’t happen to be a map somewhere, would there?”

“And make it easier for the aliens to find their way around this place?”

“Aliens can read maps? Just what did I miss these past twenty years?”

“The past twenty years, they’ve learned to spam grenades. And _cover._ Hell, that Speaker’s pretty much a prettier Thin Man. Wouldn’t put it past them to learn how to read a map. _”_ He motioned to the corridor. “We’ll catch up on the way.”

 

* * *

 

“–Vahlen went missing after XCOM fell.” He climbed down the last ladder to get to Engineering. “But I can't imagine she would just give up so easily, not with Earth's freedom at stake.”

It was painful, dredging up memories of the curve of her cheeks and her smooth, capable fingers. Sure, Vahlen was an alien’s worst nightmare, and not someone to be crossed, but she was still one of the old guard. When he passed by the lab, it just didn’t feel right without the German scientist in her turtleneck and pristine lab coat, prodding at aliens with various surgical tools.

“Tygan’s not bad at what he does, it’s….” Bradford shrugged. The Avenger’s corridor echoed with the click of their boots. “That’s in the past. Forget it.”

“I presume Vahlen is enjoying the ability to research intact artifacts,” the Commander said.

Bradford smiled, albeit sadly. “Maybe we need to use more grenades.”

“Somehow, Central, I doubt drawing a pentagram and offering up a grenade will summon Dr. Vahlen,” the Commander said as they walked into Engineering. “At least we’ve got Dr. Shen.”

“Ok… reworked your repulsors with some of the parts I salvaged from your old engine,” Shen muttered, tinkering with her personal GREMLIN on the main bench. “Should fix that stabilization problem you had.” She tightened a bolt on the little robot’s shell. “Come on, ROV-R. It’ll work.”

The repulsor pads glowed blue. ROV-R flew off the engineering bench, and straight at the duo. The Commander side-stepped. Bradford ducked, but ROV-R still clipped the side of his head as it flew off to inspect Engineering.

Bradford rubbed his head. “Could still work on that stabilization problem, Shen.”

“Central! Commander! Getting our tech to talk to theirs is harder than you think.” Shen left the bench. “Lily Shen, Chief Engineer, at your service. You were… probably expecting to see my father…” Shen looked down. Her hands tightened around the wrench in her hands. “In all that’s happened, I’m guessing Central didn’t tell you. He’s… gone.”

The Commander bowed her head.

Behind Lily, Bradford could almost see a wizened Taiwanese man, eyes still brilliant behind thick glasses. He could almost feel the calloused hands guiding him around the ship. A man focused on the applied side of science, not Vahlen’s theoretical work, but just as willing to get hands on in his old age.

He could almost see that frail body, speared on the end of a Chryssalid’s talon.

 _Your fault. You should have gone down there and uploaded that fix. Look at you – you got four XCOMs started and four XCOMs killed_. _How many more will die because of you?_

Bradford could almost smell burning flesh and the acrid fumes of melting steel girders. Acid rose in his throat.

 _Just make it to 0 h, then grab a drink_.

Lily took a deep breath. “Dad gave everything he had to get us this far.” Shen strode over to a screen, pointing at the plans to modify the ship for human use. Her father’s touch was in every single inch of the ship – from the routing of water pipes from a network of cisterns to the banisters that lined every hallway, something of the Old Shen’s pride in his work lingered. “This entire ship is his life’s work. I know he would have loved to show you around the ship himself.”

“I’m sorry,” the Commander said. “I would have liked to see him as well.”

“He used to talk about you a lot.” The younger Shen dusted off her vest and looked at the Commander. “You can be sure I’m ready to finish what he started. Might not look it, but from here, I can fabricate pretty much everything you come up with. And with a little more help…” ROV-R buzzed over to Shen, hovering at neck height. Shen petted its shell. “Well, you’ll be amazed with what I can do.”

“I look forward to working with you, Chief Engineer Shen.” The Commander took out her tablet and began scrolling through her inbox. “What are your current projects?”

“We’re installing the magnetic converter – it’ll take about a day,” Shen said, falling into her element. “I can’t promise any miracles, but I should be able to put some of this stuff together in no time at all.” Shen tapped one of the screens, drawing up a schematic of a canister with a red cross on the side. It came apart, revealing a compressed gas mechanism and some sort of fluid inside a chamber. Components scrolled down the side: painkillers, antiseptics, sealing agents, insulating agents… “I’d suggest we get started with a Medkit. It’ll probably come in handy sooner rather than later.”

“I like it.” The Commander peered at the schematics that appeared on her tablet. “35 supplies? Individually?”

“Yes.” Shen coughed. “It is… rather expensive to make, but I–“

“You misunderstand me,” the Commander said with a smile. “Bradford, our current supplies?”

“Standing at a hundred seventy five kilograms, Commander.”

“Do they include food for the crew, medical supplies?”

“Loose consumables like iron or explosives.” Bradford checked his tablet. They had more than enough plastic explosives to blow the ship to hell and dig deeper into the Verdon Gorge. He made a mental note to check how they were stored. “Don’t worry about food and medical, Commander. I’ll handle that.’

“Chief Shen, are these multi-use?”

“Each kit has three doses,” Shen replied. “I can get started immediately.”

“That would be appreciated. We’ll need two medkits.” The Commander studied the other schematics. “Then, if you have the time, the flashbangs. Do those need to be built individually–”

“Oh, no Commander.” Shen hurried over to the screen. “Only the medkits have to be built individually. Grenades are much easier. That’s a rough estimate to supply every soldier in the base with at least one.”

A hint of mischief crept into the Commander’s eyes. “That’s already an improvement on your father’s system. So medkits first, and then flashbangs.” She looked down at her tablet. “You’ll have to excuse me, Chief Shen. I have a debriefing to attend. It was an honor to meet you. And you, ROV-R,” the Commander said, looking up at the GREMLIN hovering around her head.

A small smile crept up the normally irritated Engineer’s face. She gripped the wrench in two hands, and bowed slightly. “It was an honor to finally meet _you_ , Commander.”

 

* * *

 

The debrief went quicker than usual, mainly because everyone who went on the mission came back alive. There was no need to comfort sobbing rookies or interrogate a shaken soldier for the details. The Commander took his usual role in pointing out flaws and assigning training – it was up to Bradford to deal with the details. As she talked, he scheduled when the rookies would begin training in their respective specializations, checked their ammo stores, verified that the X4 was properly stored, and documented the mission.

> _Although Devgan missed several shots and succumbed to mind control, I have promoted him to Specialist. Onboard the Avenger, he has shown an aptitude for electronics and hacking. By 0800 tomorrow, Shen will have a GREMLIN ready for him. - CO J. Bradford  
> _

“-at 0800 hours. I look forward to working with you,” the Commander said. “You may leave.”

Bradford finished typing and set his tablet down. Operation: Brutal Ghost had several hitches, but it had gone better than any mission he had commanded alone. He sent the latest After Action Report to the Flawless folder, and smiled to himself.

“Central’s smiling,” he heard Urist hiss to her teammates as they filed out of the Bridge. “Is the world ending?”

Kelly slapped the Grenadier over the head. “We’re professionals. Save that for the bar.”

"That's not the only thing we're saving," Braun said.

Devgan looked back at his commanding officers. "Nothing to worry about, sir! We're not planning anything!"

The Commander met his eyes after the team had exited. "We'll need a _Things XCOM Operatives are not allowed to do, Volume Two_ , won't we?"

Bradford massaged his forehead. "Check your inbox."

Her tablet beeped.

"Our soldiers have far too much free time." The Commander flipped through the list. "That– snaketits? That's an alien– You… you did _what_ to Big Ben? And the Eiffel Tower?"

 

* * *

 

After the debrief, and assurances that it was XCOM that had picked up the Commander and not EXALT, Bradford made his rounds around the ship, checking all systems were running and sending out messages to the resistance. The former Council Spokesman – now the Informant – would be glad to know that XCOM was back in business.

It was almost one when he finished his work. The ship hummed quietly beneath his boots.

 _Isn’t it pathetic?_ He thought as he descended to the bar and memorial room. _Used to be the no-nonsense backbone of XCOM. Now I’m tied to the bottle._

Even in the corridor outside the bar, he could hear a spoon clinking against ceramic. No one aboard the ship would eat in memorial room.

Twenty years of life on the run urged his hand to the knife at his shoulder. Bradford walked forward, ready to draw and strike.

The Commander sat at the bar, shoulders slumped, spoon hanging limply from nerveless fingers. A bowl sat by her crossed arms. It was still half-full of creamy white soup. Her eyes stared without seeing at the faces on the memorial wall.

“Dinner not to your taste, Commander?” Bradford asked as he went behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle and popped off the cap. Something resembling beer, by the smell. He was more of a whiskey man, but these days, he took what he could get.

She started. “Central.” Her eyes drifted around the room, lingering over the picture of Vahlen, Shen, and Bradford himself in the glass cabinet. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Gatecrasher.”

Bradford set down his beer and drew himself up into a formal stance: arms locked behind his back, legs straight, feet shoulders-width apart. It didn’t feel as right without his wooly-pully shielding him from the chill of the base.

“Go ahead, sir. Is it about Ramirez and Osei?”

“Shen has no tactical experience, unlike you or I,” the Commander said. Bradford looked at the fifty-three names on the wall. The soldiers seemed to glare back at him. “Osei also disobeyed a direct order. Ramirez was not cautious enough. You even improved on Devil’s Moon by covering the soldiers’ flanks. Though their deaths are tragic, no one alive is truly at fault.” She shook her head. “No, it has more to do with the modus operandi.”

“Would you like to know more about our operatives in the city? Or the infiltration?”

“You may want to start drinking, Central.”

Bradford drained half the bottle.

“You had a woman wearing explosives under her vest walk into a densely populated area. First, you blew up a military vehicle to signal Gatecrasher. The team then proceeded to blow up the former Eiffel Tower.” The Commander raised an eyebrow. “Does that… remind you of anything?”

_Don’t you remember when you were fighting real terrorists?_

Bradford set down the bottle. “It got you out, didn’t it?”

The Commander nodded. “I’ve also noticed that operations have tended towards destruction of alien monuments. Has this increased recruitment?”

“In the resistance havens. People out in the cities, though, they’ve been spoon-fed the whole _XCOM are terrorists_ spiel–“

“They think we’re terrorists.” The Commander raised an eyebrow. “Was this before, or after the monument destruction?”

Bradford drained the bottle dry. The glass clattered onto the bar top. “Sir, ADVENT’s been slinging that spiel since 2015. It’s more… appropriate now, but it keeps the Resistance’s spirits up. ADVENT’s got us outgunned and outnumbered. Bringing down the fancy statues and gene therapy clinics? If it helps what remains of the Resistance stay sane, then I’ll personally bring out the X4.”

“We'll need image manipulation… I’ll start on that tomorrow.” The Commander rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Central. I’m grateful for the work you’ve done. I – it’s only just setting in. Much has changed….”

“And XCOM going guerilla is one such change.”

The Commander slumped against the bartop. Her gaze rested on the photo of the old XCOM's Command team.

“We’re the only two left.”

The alcohol settled in his stomach, sending its soft heat through his veins. He knew that loneliness well. They were two relics on the past, clinging to ideals that humanity no longer seemed to embrace. Every day, more of their friends and allies fell to the invaders or worse, switched sides. They were outgunned and outnumbered, and the fate of humanity rested on their shoulders. It felt like 2015 all over again.

“Afraid so, Commander,” he said, steadying her.

She blew out a breath. “Central… It’s… twenty years. Two decades have gone by. Everyone I knew who could be of use is probably gone. Why me? Why not find Dr. Vahlen, or–“

He looked at the fifty-three names. “It was a bloodbath these past twenty years. Better guns would help, but we need someone to lead us.” Bradford looked up at the ceiling. He could barely hear the hiss of running water from the showers in the medbay and the chatter of soldiers on night shift. “You heard Braun. The soldiers are running out of hope, Commander. Been telling them about the only person to make some headway against the aliens." Something swelled in his chest, soft and light, unlike the heat of alcohol. "Look at them, when they walked off - not carried off, not wheeled off – the Skyranger. For the first time in twenty years, things are changing. They need you.”

The alcohol crooned in his ear.

“Hell, Commander, I–“

 

Shen entered the bar before Bradford could make a fool out of himself. ROV-R hovered over her shoulder, bearing a tablet between its repulsor feet.

“Sir. Central.” She took the tablet and held it before the duo. “I… found some files my dad left behind. There’s one for each room. I think you should hear them.”

Shen’s finger slid across the screen. Old Shen’s voice emanated from the speaker – worn with age, the war had aged them all, but it was still the comforting cadence Bradford knew and loved.

“Ah, Commander. I was wondering when you'd be stopping by,” said the recording of the dead engineer. The Commander leaned forward, a genuine smile on her lips. “Welcome to the bar and memorial. Anything Central can dream up, we can mix it here. We don’t have the good doctor to verify if it’s drinkable, I’m afraid, but Central will do the job. The soldiers we remember here can cheer him on.”

Old Shen chuckled, but the frail voice was laden with fatigue. Bradford feigned offense. His alcoholism had been a long-standing point of contention between the two, but now that Old Shen was gone, it didn’t seem as important.

“If you’re listening to this, I presume I’ve gone. I hope it will be in my sleep. This war has robbed too many of their peace.” A sigh hissed out from the speaker. Bradford repressed the memories of guts scattered over the alien floor and the orange spikes piercing a wrinkled XCOM sweater. “I’ve left Lily in my stead. You remember Lily, I hope, from our chats. I’ve taught her everything I know. I know she’s ready to make what XCOM needs.”

Lily placed the tablet on the bartop, and began backing away. She stood before the picture of her father in the memento cabinet.

“Things have been difficult, Commander. I’m an old man. I don’t think I’ll live to see the aliens leave our planet. But I can always hope, Commander. I remember our talks. You were so optimistic that if we could just win the war, humanity would come together as one. That… has not been the case. We may not bear the flags of countries and discriminate based on color, but the aliens have divided us with twisted hulks of morality and promise. Hatred for all is no substitute for the hatred of a few.”

“I’m worried about Central.” The old man’s voice was soft, almost wistful. “He drinks far too much. He’s been chasing every rumor about you. XCOM needs you, but at this point, so does Central. I hope this finds you before the alcohol kills him. I do what I can, but it’s not enough. XCOM needs a tactician.” Shen sighed. “Look at me. I’m getting soft in my old age. And, of course, my daughter. She’s ready to take on this task. But I’m worried that this is the only world she’ll ever know. I… Commander, if you ever doubt our mission, please remember. I’d like my daughter to be able to walk free in San Francisco and Taipei once more. I think you’d like to see Chief Hazurov, Dr. Vahlen and Central do the same. There are people depending on you – on us. If there’s anybody worth fighting for, it’s them.”

Something thudded against the recorder. It sounded papery, as if Old Shen was setting down a book.

“Take care of them, Commander. I’ll see you on the other side. I believe we still have a game of chess to finish.”

 _Click_.

The Commander stood and handed the tablet back to Shen. "Thank you, Chief Shen, for sharing this." She looked back at Bradford. "I'll be ready for duty at 0730, Central. Good night."

In twenty years, Bradford had seen a lot. But he never imagined the newly rescued Commander would look so lonely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And So It Begins: Achievement earned after completing the tutorial mission.
> 
> Every time your soldier throws a grenade, Vahlen gains a megaphone to yell at you from her secret lab base.


	9. New Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironically enough, Bradford is more of an Empire fan than a Rebel.
> 
> In other news: Base management, the videogame!

“–And that’s from when we blew the outpost up!” As Bradford entered the mess hall, he caught sight of Kundi flailing her arms at a table in the center. Pens and papers scattered over the table. The Commander sat across from the soldier, looking mildly concerned. “We got Jane, Ian, local rebels from that cell who decided to hop on and help us out.” Kundi opened a stained sketchbook and presented a page to the Commander. “And this is a soldier saving a child from an ADVENT Captain. That one's about the abductions and the missing civilians. Are the skulls too much?”

“I like the rescuer posters. It’ll help us fight the terrorist image.” The Commander’s spoon clinked against her bowl. “May I see?”

“Yes sir.” The sketchbook slid over the metal table.

"Join us, or become them," the Commander mused. "Catchy. This is a recruitment poster?"

“Yes sir! What do you think? Should we have more action hero poses?”

“For recruitment, yes. Send these to Central for approval.” As Bradford poured out coffee from a dispenser, the hiss of hot liquid nearly drowned out the Commander’s voice. “But if we’re going for the anti-terrorist angle, please turn down the destruction. How will these be deployed?”

Kundi hummed and tapped her pen against the table. “These,” she turned the page, “are designed to be graffitied onto a flat surface. Quick, easy, low effort for new Resistance contacts in the cities. We can use it to see if someone is really ready to help the Resistance. These,” she shuffled a stack of papers on the table, “are pamphlets. Cells typically leave them behind after a mission.”

“How many can we currently contact?”

Bradford bit into what appeared to be an apple. It was hard to tell under the thick coating of wax used to preserve it. At 07:45, the mess hall was almost unoccupied, letting the uncomfortable silence curdle in the air.

"Not many…?"

The Commander sighed. "I know a lot of people joined ADVENT and believe their lies. Give me a number, please."

“Three, sir. One in Poland, one here… The Resistance HQ’s in the Alps. It’s been hard talking to them because we don’t want the aliens catching our messages – oh! Central, sir!” Kundi scrambled out of her seat and saluted as he approached. “Just going over propaganda, sir!”

“Fingers near your temples, Kundi, not over your forehead.” Kundi moved her hand over. Bradford saluted her back. “Better. At ease.”

“Morning, Central.” The Commander looked no healthier than yesterday, but she offered him a smile. She began to stack the papers. “I met with the soldiers in the medbay. We’ll need to institute a _no Commander-based cults_ rule again.”

Kundi looked back and forth between them. “I’ll… go man the coms, sir. See you around!” she said, picking up her papers and darting off.

The Commander scraped her bowl clean. “Central, I thought the situation was manageable until I visited them.” She wiped her mouth. “Our soldiers have too much free time.”

“They’ve got movies in there, they’ll be fine. If they're not fighting the aliens, they might as well keep Earth's culture alive.” Bradford set down his tray and took a chunk out of the bread. It was hard, tasteless, and crumbled onto his tongue. Just like MREs in the good old days. “Odinson’s leading them?”

“Hmm." The Commander looked him over, as if he'd magically reveal a preacher's robes. "I had the impression that _you_ were its priest.”

“It’s just the men trying to cheer themselves up. We've been dying like God grew tired of us.” Bradford dipped the bread into his coffee. He had to give the aliens one thing: they had created coffee that could grow freely in France’s vineyards. If it weren’t for coffee, he’d be back to smoking a pack a day. “I’ll get them to tone it down. Not that I approve of the cult, sir.”

“Starting off with a Yang, understood. Still, I would prefer not to have Commanderism aboard. Best not to raise expectations…” The Commander paused. Her brow furrowed. “Do we have a soldier named Yang?”

“No, Commander.”

“Strange.” Her face tightened. “I’ll work on that once we get coms running. Until Shen’s done,” she passed him a stack of finished propaganda posters, “please look these over.”

Bradford’s tablet beeped with a message. “Looks like Tygan made some progress on his research,” he said, picking up his coffee and the posters. “We should meet him in the lab.”

 

* * *

 

“So much of my own research based upon this design,” Tygan mused as he studied the chip. It revolved innocuously in a blue electric field, looking like nothing more than the world’s spikiest car key. “If only I had known…”

“Good morning, Dr. Tygan,” the Commander said. “You called?”

Tygan straightened. “Ah. Commander. Central. Excellent timing. There’s been some… progress.”

The doctor went over to a screen displaying the X-Ray of the Commander’s head. “I’ve managed to break down several key components of this “chip” implanted into your skull.” On screen, the chip revolved around a central axis. Lines of code scrolled down the side. “I’ve managed to break down several key components. My analysis reveals that its primary function was that of a conduit, passing a vast amount of information directly into your cerebral cortex.”

“Cerebral cortex…” The Commander looked up at the ceiling. “The brain’s integration and processing center? Some fine motor control, but that’s irrelevant here.”

Bradford raised an eyebrow at his Commander.

She mouthed, _Vahlen._

“Correct.” Tygan tapped the screen. It zoomed in on the X-Ray. Fragmented lines of code popped on screen. “With the primary connection severed, much of the data was lost. Several fragments still remain, however. Ghosts, if you will. Observe.”

A Chryssalid popped onscreen, its long stabbing forearm buried in a XCOM soldier’s gut. The clip changed to a San Franciscan street bombarded by plasma. Civilians in suits fled over the cobblestones. Some tripped and did not get up. It changed once again, to a XCOM soldier taking cover behind a minivan. A Sectoid was barely visible behind a pizza delivery car ten meters ahead.

Bradford took a deep breath. That was in the past. The Commander was back. He didn’t have to run now.

“Tactical combat simulations. War games,” Dr. Tygan said, as the screen showed a XCOM soldier crouching behind the smooth mirrored surface of the Cloud Gate took a bolt of plasma to the chest and dropped to the ground. The scene changed to a Sectopod stomping down the streets of Chicago. “The device is psionically-driven by the latent energy of the subject’s brain – in this case, the Commander.”

 _Dr. Shen would have something to say about that_ , Bradford thought. _Aliens playing computer games. Is that how they trained to fight us?_

“The sheer volume of encounters you were processing was astounding.” Tygan shook his head. “It… it is truly remarkable that you survived as long as you did.”

 

Onscreen, an alien craft soared over the streets of Beijing. Plasma peppered the tanks below. Soldiers scattered like leaves blown by the wind.

The screen flickered. A red cape danced among black shadows with fangs and claws that threatened to shred the scarlet fabric.

Bradford blinked. The cape disappeared.

Tygan tapped the screen. It showed the chip once again. “Though this may seem disconcerting, there is still ‘good news.' This chip bears a striking resemblance to a medical implant I briefly assisted in developing at the Gene Therapy clinic in New Providence.” Tygan’s arms went behind his back as the chip disassembled into its components on screen. “My understanding was that the implants were intended for high-ranking ADVENT captains or above.”

“You want us to capture one… alive?” Bradford asked. "Well, we've got Rangers. It's doable."

“The corpse will suffice. Retrieving such an officer would be the only way to know for certain. A greater understanding of these implants would undoubtedly benefit us all, Commander.”

Bradford thought back to the last operation AAR. “We got a Captain from the last op. Why not that one?”

Dr. Tygan went to a drawer and pulled it out. The helmetless ADVENT Captain’s head lolled on the steel bottom, revealing a chunk missing from the back of its skull. Tiny fragments of black metal poked out of the meaty mass. Its helmet perched atop its chest. The entire back half that would have protected the skull and spine was shredded.

“I have done what I could,” Dr. Tygan stated. "But without an intact head, there is little I can do."

 _I can almost hear Vahlen screaming, 'I told you so.'_ Bradford rubbed his eyes. “We can’t salvage anything from that?”

Tygan gave him a look. “Beyond the similarity of ADVENT neural systems to our own? No. Nothing can be learned from this chip.” The doctor slid the drawer shut. “I would advise the use of firearms aimed at the center of mass. The ADVENT Officers have clearly been modified to allow their subordinates to receive orders psionically. The chip is the key, but there will be networks scattered throughout the body that grenades may destroy.”

“I’ll give the word, Commander,” Bradford said. She nodded her assent. “Anything else, doctor?”

“This device still is surrounded by residual psionic fields, hence the shielding.” Tygan gestured to the implant revolving in the blue field. “It appears this device functions as both a transmitter and a receiver, relaying information via some sort of psionic link.”

Bradford could almost feel the blood draining away from his face.

“Are you saying… the aliens could still have some sort of psionic control over the Commander?”

It would make sense. The faint rush of adrenaline that surged through his veins during operation Brutal Ghost. During the first war, he had witnessed Sectoids send tendrils of psionic power out to their fellow aliens. The affected aliens had better aim, and seemed to be more aggressive to boot. But that didn't explain the sheer number of people affected - the Bridge staff, the ops team, even the soldiers down in the medbay. If the chip created a psionic link, who knew what the aliens could see?

 _But why would the aliens help XCOM out?_ Bradford shook his head. It could be just the Commander herself. She had a way of swaying people to follow her - he had witnessed that himself, while she was trying to get the Japanese and Chinese spokespeople to cooperate while the Shenzhen Dreadnaught flew over the Sea of Japan.

A lack of trust had destroyed XCOM the first time. He couldn't repeat the mistakes of the old world.

“Highly unlikely. With the connection severed, no information can be transferred. Both Chief Shen and I can verify this.” Dr. Tygan brought up a new scan, this time of the Commander's head. Faint rings emanated from a portion of her brain. "I can also verify that the Commander has no psionic potential. It is strange, as most humans have at least some degree of potential."

The Commander opened her mouth, but quickly closed it.

"You can scan for that?" Bradford asked. "We should have known this earlier, Doctor."

"It was something we did at every Gene Clinic," Tygan stated. "I do not know what happened to those with much potential. Some humans seemed to have more than others."

Bradford closed his eyes, but a headache still curled around his temples. "Do we need to worry about Sith Lords running around?"

"If I may?" Dr. Tygan asked. Bradford opened his eyes. “The fact that this chip is still able to create a field worries me. The chips I initially designed were supposed to turn off should they be separated from their host. To prevent electrocution during removal, you see. With your permission, Commander, I will study this more.”

The Commander crossed her arms. “What are the other research projects?”

Bradford looked to his Commander. “Sir, if the chip’s still sending out a field–“

“If there’s no communication, we have higher priorities. Arming our soldiers, for one.” She snapped her fingers. “We were too defensive the last war. If we’re on the run now, then we need to strike hard and fast. Doctor, what’s the first step to getting better weapons?”

Tygan looked a bit startled. "The hybrid materials, which requires two ADVENT trooper corpses, will give us better armor. The modular weapons involves–"

Bradford tapped the table for her attention. “Commander. Aren't you worried that the aliens could still be messing with your brain?“

“I will consider it later, Central,” she said in a very final tone. Bradford ducked his head. “Thank you for your concern, but I’d rather see to the men. Please go inform them that we cannot grenade ADVENT Captains. Dr. Tygan, could you tell me more about the modular weapons?"

Bradford saluted and left the labs.

 _The Commander is dedicated to keeping our soldiers alive,_ he told himself as he walked away. Tygan had found no sign of brain damage or psionic control. The twenty years on-the-run and the sacrifice of the men they had lost meant _something_. The Commander knew the price of the sacrifice. _I shouldn't worry. She's in control. She's on our side, not the aliens'._

Something still smarted in his veins, fresh as a slap to the face.

 

* * *

 

Five hours later, after guiding the newest recruits through a live-fire exercise and okaying the pamphlets for distribution, Bradford found himself at the Bridge. Technicians swarmed around him, preparing the Avenger before launch. The screens of the Bridge buzzed with messages from the resistance: pleas for suppressing ADVENT outposts, tales of supply drops and data relays…

He fell into a methodical pattern, sorting through the information as it came. A sense of calm settled in his brain. All he needed to worry about was getting XCOM from point A to point B. The Commander would handle the big picture.

Bradford paused on one message that had XCOM written all over it.

On his tablet, Shen was sending increasingly ecstatic messages.

"Everyone, get ready," Bradford said.

"COMMANDER TO THE BRIDGE," the AI announced.

“Stay clear of the perimeter, understood?” he said, motioning to the resistance com. Onscreen, their contact in this village - Dupain, a girl of sixteen, orphaned by ADVENT - gave him a thumbs up and scurried away to warn the villagers. "Agreste, Lasko, take your places."

The technicians nodded, then went to their stations.

Boots scuffed against the Bridge deck.

Bradford turned to find the Commander walking towards him. “Commander! Good. I think we got something here.”

She followed him to the Hologlobe table.

“Despite all of ADVENT’s efforts, there are still people who refuse to believe their lies.” The Hologlobe burst into life: a holographic projection, smaller than the one in the original base, depicting a revolving Earth. Great swaths were covered in golden sands or electric blue oceans. Tiny pinpricks of pale blue light dotted the globe: the matrix of light gave life to the globe. Bradford flicked his hand. Glowing white rings popped up around known resistance settlements. “It’s time we let them know they’re not alone.”

A small smile began to form on her lips. "And what do they have for us?"

“We’ve already located a target for our first mission,” he said.

The implant hummed beneath his skin, as if urging the beast below his feet to rise.

“Sir!” Evora said. Bradford turned to look at the pale-skinned man fiddling with the Avenger’s engine screen. “Given our current location, there’s actually no way the Skyranger could reach that position.”

Bradford smirked. “Who said anything about the Skyranger?” He touched his headset. It clicked beneath his fingers. “Shen, status report. Are we ready?”

“Short answer?” Shen said as the Avenger’s engines purred like some great cat beneath their feet. “Yes. But… you might all want to hold onto something.”

Bradford took his place at the Avenger’s controls. A few strains of the Imperial March thrummed through his mind, a faint memory of the days he looked up at the stars and wondered what waited there. He was no Red Two, but Bradford was adaptable, if nothing else.

He winked at the Commander.

“Get ready to fly, sir.”

 

A massive boom echoed through the Avenger’s halls, as the repulsors came online. Engines settled into a choppy whirr. In a groan of metal and plasma the ship lifted off. The chip in his hand relayed feed from the cameras outside: the ship kicked up whirlwinds of red dust as it ascended from the depths of the dusty Verdon Gorge. Bradford could barely see the dark forms of civilians pointing at the ship. He coaxed the ship into rising – ten feet, twenty feet, fifty feet – until they were clear of the cacti-dotted cliffs. Bradford pulled up, and the Avenger took off into the clear blue skies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The propaganda poster Kundi created about the abducted civilians is the XCOM 2 cover art. It's… something.
> 
> AAR: After Action Report


	10. Operation: Diamond Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's soulless, covered in bone spikes, red-eyed, and black all over? 
> 
> In other news: Bradford's operation names are strangely prophetic.

Two hours later, the Avenger set down on the shores of Lake Vattern. The Skyranger took off for ADVENT Patrol Zone 8: the slums outside Stockholm. _Blood Alley_ , Serpent called it. Their Resistance Contact was good for relaying information in and out of the cities, but absolute crap at getting any details. At least this time, Serpent gave the approximate location of the data relay.

“ADVENT is using a hidden alien transmitter in this area to transmit critical data back to their network. The loss of that data will stop their latest project in their tracks,” Bradford reported to the soldiers in the Skyranger.

He could see Teuku jittering in his seat, rifle shaking in its holster. The ex-EXALT rookie’s breath puffed up through the orange bandana over his mouth. Not good. Twitchy soldiers had a tendency to panic and kill their team. Bradford wouldn't have sent him out. But the Commander wanted everyone to get some experience, while ADVENT was pulling themselves together. Hopefully, his teammates could keep him calm.

“We’re expecting a strong contingent of security forces,” Bradford continued. “Neutralize them and secure the site, haul the corpses back, and distribute these posters to civilians. Destroy that relay at all costs.”

“Yes sir!” they chorused.

Ten minutes later, Firebrand reported, “We’re in the pipe, 5 by 5.”

 

Kelly led, sliding out of the Skyranger onto the roof of an apartment block. Dark red soot covered every inch of the grey tiles. Her helmet cam buzzed, sending a constant feed back to the Avenger. Devgan followed, the GREMLIN buzzing about his shoulders. Braun’s body cam showed him giving Teuku a little push out the Skyranger’s bay before he too descended.

“We’re in position,” Kelly said. “1-6, I can see the relay glowing from here.”

In the space normally occupied by the Hologlobe, Bradford summoned the last of the helmet cams. He watched as Braun crouched behind an exhaust vent.

Braun readied his sniper rifle. “Want me to take a shot at it, sir?”

“Negative, 1-3,” the Commander said beside him. “1-6 to Devgan. Can your GREMLIN hack it?”

Devgan synced his wrist-mounted com to his robot buddy. “Gotta get closer, sir. Otherwise my GREMLIN will desync.”

The Commander chewed her lip, looking over the camera feeds. Menace Team faced a highway almost bereft of cars: any vehicles present were inexplicably motionless. The sidewalks were similarly empty. Below the highway sat squat buildings with brick-like walls and dusty glass façades. Bradford could barely spot civilians inside the stores, but they were there: light smudges of movement against the blacks and reds of ADVENT products. Something seemed off in the slums. They were ADVENT-manufactured cities, and yet there was still some essence of humanity in the shape of the buildings and roads. What was a city without its people? Bradford could barely remember the Middle East, but he remembered its towns and villages the most. Sure, at first glance, the packed dirt houses and soaring stone arches all seemed the same, but once you got to see the people inside, the whole location seemed less like soulless buildings and more like someone's home.

At the team’s backs, the sun slowly sank into the sky. It wasn’t low enough to tint the clouds pink and gold, but it did create an annoying lens flare every time a soldier faced the horizon.

“1-2, send your GREMLIN to that streetlamp,” the Commander finally said. “I want to see the relay.”

Devgan tapped his GREMLIN. “Off you go, buddy.”

The GREMLIN flew over to the designated position. Its camera zoomed in on the ground-floor window of a clothing store. At least, Bradford hoped the pink holograms of reclining women were advertising clothing… The pink light almost hid the orange glow of the chrysalis-like alien transmitter.

“Tygan, any idea why there’s no civilians around?” Bradford asked.

“A curfew, perhaps.” The scientist frowned at the screens. “However, I was in the City Centers, where we could move freely as long as we carried ID. I do not know if it is the same in the slums.”

The Commander nodded her thanks to Tygan. “1-2 and 1-5, advance to the apartment block thirty meters ahead. There’s going to be a patrol there: Kelly, prep a grenade. Braun, overwatch. Teuku, take cover on the other side of the roof, and overwatch.”

The soldiers moved like a well-oiled machine. Kelly and Devgan slid down a drainage pipe to reach street level, while Braun readied his pistol. Teuku shot to the designated position and rested his rifle on the roof.

Kelly took cover next to the apartment lobby. She poked her head out, and held a hand up. Devgan stopped. “Got ADVENT. A Sectoid, and two troopers.”

“Hold your fire, 1-5.” The Commander looked over the body cams: no sight of the patrol there. “Teuku, Braun, can you see them?”

“No,” Braun said just as Teuku gave an affirmative.

“Devgan, are you in range?” Bradford asked, drawing up the videofeed from the GREMLIN.

“Ready to hack, sir.”

The GREMLIN hummed past a grocery store. The camera mounted to its carapace caught a glimpse of a group of civilians huddling in its depths. It hopped through an open window and settled over the alien relay. The robot whined as it interfaced with alien technology, trying to keep the aliens out while it infiltrated their network. 

“Commander, we can either get satellite data to find resistance cells quicker,” Bradford held up his tablet, “or grab a small intel cache. Intel's easier. If we fail, reinforcements will come.” The Commander held up two fingers. “The cache." Bradford relayed the message and let Devgan do his hacking magic.

After a few seconds, the Specialist announced, “Got it!”

Bradford switched channels as the GREMLIN returned to Devgan. “Shen, decrypt the cache.” Beside him, the Commander ordered Braun and Teuku to fire on the relay. Orange sparks fizzed over the metal, then the relay burst into flame. “Menace 1-5, we got what we came for. Clean up the AO and let’s get packing.”

“Sectoid and two troopers on my left,” Teuku reported after a few minutes of scanning.

“Kelly, grenade them," the Commander said. "Braun, if the Sectoid’s still standing, shoot it.”

The patrol advanced. The Sectoid crawled on all fours like an overlarge, spandex-covered spider. Kelly pulled the pin on her grenade, and tossed it into their midst.

Hot metal flew through the air, instantly killing the troopers. The Sectoid scuttled to the shelter of a car. Psionic energy gathered around the crown of its head. Braun shot it in the chest. The Sectoid shrieked, but its work was done. Purple mist swarmed around a fallen ADVENT trooper. Black-armored limbs clambered back up, swaying in the barest semblance of life.

“Necromancer Sectoids. Of course.” The Commander pinched the bridge of her nose. “Braun, save your fire. Teuku, get to Braun and shoot the Sectoid.”

Teuku did so. His shot shredded the Sectoid’s skull, painting the car a sickly yellow, neatly snipping the psionic link snapped. The zombie returned to the dead.

A second patrol – this one made of only ADVENT troopers – stepped out of an office building. Before the lead troopercould even point at Kelly, Braun fired. The bullet pierced the helmet in a spray of orange blood. The trooper sprawled on the ground, forcing its comrades to step over its body.

“Kelly, slash the one on your left,” the Commander said.

“Moving at the speed of death.” Kelly charged in as the trooper readied to fire. She brought down her machete, cleaving the trooper open from shoulder to hip.

“Good work,” the Commander said, “Teuku, let’s get you another kill.”

Teuku quickly dispatched the other trooper. “And stay dead!”

“Guys!” Braun’s camera zoomed in on the ADVENT patrol heading up the street. “We got a snaketits, a Captain and a clanker!”

Bradford cleared his throat.

“Sorry, sir,” Braun said.

 

The Commander turned to the doctor as the Viper slithered up the street. “What is that thing?”

“Without the introduction of human DNA,” Tygan replied, “these creatures once operating under the guise of ‘Thin Men’ now show their true form, a purely reptilian species. We believe the ADVENT Spokesman was one such creature.”

The Commander’s mouth twitched. “Snake people control our government at the highest level,” she said so softly, Bradford almost didn’t hear.

“No reason for them to hide,” the Central Officer said. “The aliens don’t need an infiltration unit anymore.”

“Say that now, and we'll regret it later,” Kelly muttered. “Sir, no grenades on the Captain?”

“Affirmative.” The Commander set up another ambush – this time, the Menace team sank into the shadows of their respective cover. Kelly hid in the alleyway between a bakery and a bookstore, her machete ready to take down the Viper. Braun was ready to take the kill shot on the Trooper. Teuku joined Kelly and Devgan on the street, where he would soften up the Captain, and Devgan would finish it off.

The Captain came sprinting down the street. Teuku’s shots pierced its chest. Devgan followed up with a shot to the neck that sent the Captain to the ground. Scarlet-clad limbs twitched feebly, like a beetle on its back, as it bled out.

“Hmm. Maybe we should’ve made him a Sharpshooter after all,” Bradford said. On screen, the ADVENT trooper ran off the street and into the shelter of a nearby bakery’s alcove.

“Dr. Tygan, got a present for you,” Devgan chirped as he reloaded and fired on the Viper.

Devgan’s shot went wide and shattered the storefront windows of a bookstore. The civilians inside screamed, their voices tinny on the camera feed. The trooper returned fire, hitting the Specialist’s gut with a pulse of magnetically slung metal.

“Fuck! That burns!” Devgan clamped a hand over his gut. “Ow… Uh, I’m good, sir, don’t need a medkit. Guess I’m the present for Dr. Tygan.”

The Commander’s face screamed, _you were saying?_

“Braun, fire on that Viper.”

Still on the rooftop, Braun’s sniper rifle came into his bodycam’s view. Braun’s finger tightened around the trigger. The Sharpshooter’s aim was true, catching the scaly monstrosity in the center of its torso. Greenish fluid spilled down the creamy belly scales.

“…Those,” the Commander motioned to her chest, “have poison glands, don’t they?”

Although she was in the labs, Shen chipped in on the coms. “Commander, my scanners report the presence of noxious fluid. We probably shouldn’t slash that Viper.”

“Noted. Kelly, shoot it instead. Teuku, fire on the trooper.”

Teuku didn’t miss. Orange bubbling blood painted the alcove.

Kelly ran behind the Viper and shot it in the back. The alien slumped, tail still twitching in death throes.

Bradford checked the scanners. “The AO is clear–“ He caught sight of a whirling blur of psionic energy in the middle of the street. “Not anymore. Everyone reload, now! Shoot whatever comes out!”  
 

The portal dissipated in a hiss of cracking ice. Out slithered a Viper, but it was black as charcoal while its dead brethren were a sandy gold. Ruby-red eyes as big as pears were set into the angry face. A white cape with some sort of black insignia fluttered over its shoulders. It lacked the hood of its brethren. Instead of the python-esque markings that trailed down a Viper’s back, this new specimen had snowy stripes that reminded Bradford of a garter snake. But what garter snake had twining spikes protruding from its head, articulated like the metacarpals of some skeletal hand? What garter snake wore a chestplate shaped like a human ribcage, but cast in black metal? What snake had frost rollicking off its body like another suit of scales?

 

“A lord among Vipers.” The Commander looked at Kelly’s camera feed and went white. Kelly was barely ten meters away. “Kelly, run! Get into the bakery!”

Too late.

The Viper Lord shot down the pavement and wound its muscular body around Kelly. She slashed desperately with her machete, drawing splurts of yellow ichor, but a loop of scaly flesh over her upper arms locked her in place. Her teammates pelted the beast with bullets – some hitting their mark – but the Viper Lord was unfazed. Ice unfurled from its scales like the petals of a deadly lotus. It drew the coils of its body tight.

Kelly screamed.

Her body cam went dark.

“Hang in there, Kelly, we’ll get you out,” the Commander said, but in the margins of Teuku’s cam, Bradford could see the limp body tumble out of that deathly embrace. “Come on, Kelly, stay with us. That’s an order! Devgan, hit it!”

Devgan’s rifle barked. The bullet struck the Viper in the chest, between the gaps of the ribcage armor. The Viper shrieked and raced down the street, ice forming in its wake. Its body tensed, a sinuous wave ready to wrap around the unfortunate Specialist.

“1-2, get to the roof!” the Commander said.

The Specialist almost dropped his rifle in his haste to climb up the drainage pipes lining the apartment. “The fuck is this thing?” he shouted. A silvery body followed him up the brick wall. “Oh god, it can climb?! Why, ADVENT, why?”

“Braun, fire on the ADVENT trooper – Devgan, try to get to Kelly and use the medkit – Teuku, shoot it!”

The Viper Lord had given up on Devgan. It seemed the ice slipping from its body had done it no favors as it attempted to climb up the wall. The bullets lodged in the small of its back, further dissuading it. Small comfort for Teuku, who had his rifle focused on the Lord’s back. The beast fell to the street and and lunged after him.

“1-1, get back to Braun!” the Commander said.

Teuku ran for it.

Behind the beast, a puddle of blood grew around Kelly’s still form. Devgan dropped down and knelt by his fallen teammate. He stripped off her armor, revealing the deep cuts and blackening bruises left by the Viper King’s scales.

Teuku vaulted over a pile of debris and took cover by the shattered storefront. “I’M LOSING CONTROL OF THE SITUATION!”

The Commander clicked her headset off. She glared at Bradford with such venom that he took a step back. “He’s EXALT?” The Central Officer nodded briefly. She clicked her headset back on. “Braun, focus fire on that Viper! Teuku– Teuku, stop! Hands off!”

Teuku fumbled the grenade off his belt.

“Soldier!” Bradford clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to shudder. Fury rollicked off his Commander’s voice. “ _Hands off that grenade! Now!_ ”

The rookie’s breaths were harsh static in his mike. “C-can’t… gotta… gotta-!”

Teuku tossed the grenade. But instead of going towards the Viper King hot on his trail, the grenade rolled right into the cluster of frightened civilians inside the bookstore.

 _Tick. Tick_.

Ribbons of flesh and bits of bone flew. Gore splattered against Teuku’s bodycam. Incoherent screams filled the air – but Bradford could clearly hear a “ _It’s XCOM, RUN!_ ” through the static ringing in his earpiece.

 

Teuku wiped off his helmet cam. He stared at the carnage before him.

The Viper Lord’s tongue shot out and hit the asphalt beside him.

“Kelly, Kelly, get up,” the Commander chanted. Bradford could only watch beside her. He couldn't get in the way. “Braun, reload and fire!”

The Sharpshooter missed.

A civilian – dressed in the whites and greys of ADVENT Official uniforms – burst out of a nearby car, dragging two young boys behind him. The group bolted towards a nearby apartment block.

“No, don’t,” the Commander muttered, “you’re not going to make it!”

The Viper Lord turned. A black forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. Its eyes locked on the fleeing family.

The Commander bit her lip. “Braun, shoot the Viper. Devgan, is Kelly stable?”

“Best I could do,” the Specialist replied. He reached for his weapon, but his hand slipped off. A bloody hand came onscreen, as Devgan wiped his hands on his pants. “Ah, fuck, sir, I can’t shoot!”

Braun’s shot glanced off the Viper’s armor.

“Just reload, and keep trying,” the Commander said. “Same for you, Devgan. Teuku, calm down. Breathe. You’re with friends. Calm down.”

The Viper Lord hissed. Its black chest heaved, sending a jet of frost at the fleeing civilians. They screamed as the ice took their bodies, the echo of their terror lingering in the calm afternoon air. The sun’s dying light flickered on their entombed bodies. It danced on the youngest child, as if he were made of crystal rather than flesh and ice.

A forked black tongue shot out. The Viper Lord pulled itself over to the ice statue of the oldest man. It curled around the prisoner.

The Commander kept talking: soft, soothing words for Teuku’s private com channel. The rookie seemed nowhere close to calming down.

Braun took out his pistol and fired at the monster, but the Lord was not dissuaded. With a flex of its body, the ice cracked. Steam rose in lazy spirals from the hot blood running in rivulets down the pavement. The Viper Lord loosened its coils. Black clawed-hands grabbed chunks of flesh from the icy tomb.

“This just isn’t right!” Teuku moaned, rocking back and forth.

The Viper Lord stopped shoveling human flesh down its pale throat, and looked at the rookie.

“Teuku, snap out of it. You'll be fine,” the Commander said. The Viper Lord dropped the hunk of flesh and slithered towards Teuku. “Braun, throw a grenade down.”

“It’ll hit Kelly and Devgan, sir!”

“Then fire on the Viper!” Bradford snapped. The mission had been going so well...

Teuku didn’t even resist. Frost sprouted on the rookie’s armor as the Viper King began to coil around him.

“Shoot it, Teuku!” the Commander nearly shouted. “You’re not dead yet!”

Something sparked on Teuku’s body cam – probably a bullet courtesy of Braun. Teuku grabbed the second grenade off his belt before the Viper closed around his hips. He lifted it to his mouth and tore out the pin. Blood dripped onto his body cam, which went white as the Viper coiled around his chest.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick_.

The explosion shattered the storefront, sending glass shards flying. The Viper King screamed as hot bits of metal shredded its unprotected flesh. Black blood fanned around the duo like some macabre painting. Its coils loosened, letting Teuku tumble free.

“Devgan, fire on the Viper.” Devgan’s rifle rose, but it shook badly. “You’ll make the shot,” the Commander said. “Your team’s counting on you.”

Devgan’s hands stilled. He fired. The Viper Lord recoiled as the bullet pierced its meaty throat.

A purple psionic gate opened near the defrosting bodies of the boys. The ice cracked, letting one of the boys move his hand.

“Don’t let the Viper get away! Braun, Teuku, shoot it!” Bradford said.

Braun landed a shot in the beast’s shoulder. The Viper Lord hissed, spraying frost in a semi circle around it that Devgan barely dodged. Teuku aimed, but by the time he fired, the beast had already shot through the portal. Teuku’s bullets harmlessly embedded themselves in a brick wall.

With a hiss, the portal closed, and the street was silent.

 

Bradford looked around the Bridge. Everyone looked shaken.

The Commander blew out a breath. “All right, everyone. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been. All of our soldiers are alive. Ready the stretchers for Kelly, Devgan and Teuku.” She pointed at him. “Bradford, make sure everyone receives counseling afterwards. You have the reins now. I’m going to talk with Tygan.”

Bradford briefly closed his eyes. “Teuku, start distributing the pamphlets. Devgan, fix up those two boys as best as you can, then start hauling corpses in. There should be candy in the Skyranger. Braun…” He massaged his forehead. “When the Skyranger comes in, get the box of cloth out. Wrap up the bodies and start talking to the civilians. Actually, Teuku, stay with Braun for your safety.”

 

* * *

 

It was a miracle that everyone returned to the Avenger in one piece. Kelly needed a month in the medbay, and Teuku was a nervous wreck after the grandmother of of the deceased tried to rip him apart with her bare hands. Only a quick chat using Devgan’s GREMLIN between the Commander and the grandmother had saved him. XCOM had suffered quite badly face-wise. The civilians had only refrained from lynching the soldiers after Devgan rescued the two boys with judicious application of his medkit. But he hadn’t saved enough for himself. By the time the Skyranger arrived, Braun had to carry the Specialist inside.

The debriefing was quiet, to avoid disturbing the recuperating soldiers outside the door. Teuku rocked back and forth in his seat, head swiveling between the Commander and the Central Officer. He had mild frostbite and shrapnel injuries, but was otherwise unscathed. Kelly was only conscious enough to crack a few jokes about broken ribs as she lay on the cot. She and Devgan would remain in this room until they weren’t coughing blood with every word. Only Braun was intact.

“Thank God, we’re all alive,” the Sharpshooter said as the meeting finished. He ran his hands through platinum-blond hair. “Here’s to you, Commander.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “As for you, Teuku… EXALT,” she said, drawing out the s _alt_. “Are you still with them?”

Teuku suddenly became very interested in the table. “Sir – very long time ago, I – my dad, I never–”

Bradford gestured at the newly-promoted grenadier. “Just answer the question, son.”

“I wouldn’t – I – never betray XCOM, they’re my family–“

The Commander stood and began to pace in what limited space was available.

Teuku flinched. His eyes hovered on the knife at Bradford’s shoulder.

“Sir…” Kelly coughed. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t know him very well,” Braun said, “but he seems like a good guy. Anyone could have panicked and misjudged that grenade throw.”

"Hell, if he wanted to sabotage us," Devgan said, "he had plenty of chances today. Uh, sir."

"I… I know EXALT helped the invaders win," Teuku said quickly, "but I'm going to make up for that - I'm not my dad - I'll do my best - please sir, don't kill me!"

A heavy silence hung over the room.

“Central hired you, and I have confidence in his judgment.” She pivoted on her heel, and faced the downcast soldier. “As long as you’re on our side, Teuku, I trust you.”

Something warm rose through Bradford’s chest. He kept the smile that threatened to rise to his lips in check.

The Commander locked eyes with everyone in turn. “We faced an enemy no one’s ever seen before, and you made it turn tail and flee. ADVENT sent out a monster to scare us, and you said, ‘ _you’ll have to do better than that.’_ We had a few setbacks today. That’s okay. We’re here to win the war. You got everyone back home. You did _well_ ,” she said, stressing the last syllable. The soldiers straightened. “When you recover, train up. When we find that monster, we’ll make it pay. You are dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

Next stop was the Resistance HQ in the Alps, to receive the engineer promised to XCOM’s staff. While Bradford flew, the Commander held a meeting about Shen’s findings.

“The Theoi project.” The Avenger shuddered beneath their feet. Bradford gritted his teeth and pulled on the controls, slowing their descent. “What is it with aliens and cryptic names?”

“Whatever it is, it’s huge.” Shen crossed her arms. The Avenger jerked to the left, almost throwing her onto the Hologlobe table. She grabbed the railing. “We’ve got a partial set of coordinates. It’ll take me some time to decode the rest. Still, I’ve compared them to the data from your chip, Commander, and there’s a lot of similarities.”

“Similarities…?” The Commander looked at Tygan. “Change of plans, Doctor. I’d like you to autopsy the ADVENT Captain.”

Tygan had his foot hooked under the Hologlobe railing to keep him in place. He typed something into his tablet. “It will be done, Commander.”

The Avenger shuddered as Bradford deployed the landing gear.

“The hell does _theoi_ mean?” Bradford asked.

“God. It’s Greek.” The Commander rubbed her eyes. “And you’re certain it has nothing to do with the Viper we met today?”

“More or less.” Shen fiddled with the circuit board in her vest pocket. “We got the entire package. I’ve never heard of _Neptune_ or _Pyrrha_ before, but they don’t sound like names for monsters.”

“Neptune is a Roman god.” Tygan’s frown deepened. “But why would aliens concern themselves with myths wh–“

_THUNK_

The Avenger settled in the clover-laden valley.

Shen got up. “Central! Be careful!”

Now that they had landed, Bradford was confident enough to let go of the Avenger’s controls. “This landing went better than our first.”

Tygan rubbed his head. “Aborted crash-landings don’t count, Central.”

“Sir,” Evora said, “Resistance HQ is requesting we stay quiet. Apparently there’s a heavy ADVENT presence in the area.”

“Noted. Start shutting systems down,” Bradford ordered. “I’ll have to introduce you to Vincent Rengel later, Commander.” Her lips twisted. “Something wrong, sir?”

“Attitude the size of Mount Everest, scar down here,” she drew a line over her collarbones, “tattoo of a coyote on his inner thigh, always pissed off?”

Bradford shrugged. “Don’t know about the tattoo, but that sounds like him.”

“We’re acquainted.” She gestured at the Hologlobe. “Shen, if the flashbangs are done, please continue decrypting the data. Tygan, ADVENT Captain autopsy. Central, I’d like you to develop a strategy to get rid of the ADVENT in this valley. I’ll be in the medbay if anyone needs me.”

 

* * *

 

By dinnertime, Bradford had drawn up a plan to rout the ADVENT forces. The Commander had approved it over a bowl of gruel and the boiled eggs of some bird Vespara had caught.

“-he said, _I served with XCOM in the old days!_ I asked him, _when were you born, son?_ This kid has the nerve to grin up to me and chirp, 2015!” Bradford shook his head. “Apparently ADVENT banned basic math.”

“That, or our soldiers were breaking fraternization regulations.”

“Don’t start on that.” Bradford shuddered. “I need a damn firehose when I do my rounds. Lower levels of the ship turn into XXX-COM. Ah, I’ll make sure they stay professional, sir.”

The Commander laughed. “I’ll see what Shen can knock up for you. What happened to Nikolao? Was he any good?”

“Kid could talk the talk.” Bradford set down his spoon. “Better shot than half the rookies we got. Died far too young.” The Central Officer pushed his bowl aside. “Was back in Ukraine. We got word ADVENT was putting something in the groundwater. Tried to blow it up. He didn’t make it out.”

She began to stack the used utensils onto her tray. “I would’ve liked to meet him. I’ll make sure he’s remembered.”

Bradford let out a bitter laugh. “Would’ve preferred him alive.”

The Commander inclined her head. “Who wouldn’t? But he isn’t." She set a hand near his. "The best we can do for him is to make sure his sacrifice is remembered.”

He couldn’t remember ever talking this freely with the Commander. In the old base, there had always been the wall of formality and military discipline between them. Not much room for those traditions these days. And as much as Bradford hated to say it, he craved comradeship. Now that Old Shen was gone, who else did he have?

"Bradford?" she asked.

“We’re running low on recruits,” Bradford said to break the silence. “God, that Viper Lord will make everything harder. Not everyone’s like our men.”

“Perhaps not yet. The human soul is resilient. When faced with adversity, it pushes back.” The Commander twined a ragged lock of hair around her finger. “Yin and yang. For there to be light, there must be darkness. We need only find the good in humanity, and nurture it.”

“Commander, that’s a bit long to put on a poster.”

“We could always go the pin up and XXX-COM route.”

Bradford choked. “Let’s not give ADVENT more fuel for their _mistakes of the old world_ machine.”

“Duly noted. I–” She suddenly clutched her head.

“Commander!” Bradford reached over the table and placed a hand on her right arm. “Commander, what’s wrong?”

“I… what am I forgetting?” she whispered. “Yin, and yang. Beauty and the beast. Mirrors, and red like roses. Creatures bred on fear. What promise have I broken?”

Bradford waited. The Commander slowly unfurled. He removed his hand.

“I… I apologize.” She shuddered. “I… I’ve seen that Viper before, but it wasn’t wearing armor, and there were two of them…”

“Relax, sir,” he said, smoothing over the panicked edges in his voice. “Once Tygan and Shen finish, we’ll know for sure. Just try to remember.”

She let out a frustrated noise and rubbed her chest. “We are running out of time.” The Commander looked over his shoulder. He turned. In the corner of the mess hall, Teuku sat alone, eyes reddened and nose bloodied. “It seems I am needed elsewhere. Thank you for your concern. Goodnight, Central.”

She picked up their trays and walked towards Teuku. He could faintly hear a soft song on her breath, “ _If I could begin to be, half of what you think of me, I could do about anything…_ ”

 _Why does that seem so ominous?_ Bradford thought.

“Night, Commander,” he called after her.

 

* * *

 

Bradford found it hard to sleep that night. After a warm shower and half a bottle of whiskey at 2 AM, he finally managed to close his eyes.

He woke up to the shuffling of feet outside his quarters.

The door slid open. Bradford reached for his knife, but there was no need, not when the light peering in revealed the Commander.

“Commander.” He kicked off the blankets and went to her side. “Where are we flying?”

“The others.” She ran her hands through her hair. Red streaks lined her cheeks. “Did you find anyone beside me in that gene clinic? It’s empty, it's empty, that's what was missing! I could feel them earlier, they must still be alive–”

“What others?” He led her over to the sofas of the Commander’s Quarters. “Commander, I don’t follow.”

The Commander collapsed onto the leather seat. Her eyes fluttered shut. “The aliens kept me in contact with at least four others. ADVENT wanted me to do something with them. Red, white, black and yellow. Four girls. I think they’re human, but they’ve been there longer than me.”

“You _think_ they’re human? Are there more aliens we have to worry about?"

"No. They… they were friendly. They were so young, and already thrown into war." She was quiet. “It’s… it’s locked away-“ her eyes squeezed shut. “They’re trained in combat,” she said finally. “Swords, scythes, some sort of whip and a pair of gauntlets. Almost all of their weapons have some gun component to them. Medieval, but modern at the same time.” The Commander bit down hard on her hand. “No, I just can’t remember!”

“Talk to me,” Bradford said. A thought occurred to him. “Shen mentioned coordinates, and the Theoi project. Could they lead to your girls?”

“Only one. ADVENT would never be so stupid to keep them together.” She groaned. “A girl of spring, born in July – what’s the birthstone for July?”

“Commander, I wouldn’t know.”

“Garnet, amethyst, aquamarine, pearl?” She shook her head. “Something about a gemstone. She had a sister, a girl of fire, yin and yang– forget it.” She clipped her earpiece onto the shell of her ear. “Commander to Tygan in the Research labs.”

“Commander.” Tygan’s groggy voice came from the terminal in the corner. “Is there an emergency?”

“Yes. Have you decrypted the coordinates?”

“We are about 50% done,” Tygan said. “I’d require more staff to speed up the process, Commander.”

“Consider it done, Commander.” Bradford gestured at their plans to ambush the ADVENT patrols. “If we take the pressure off HQ, I’m sure they’ll give us a scientist as well.”

“Were there any memories on that chip?” the Commander asked. “Anything like names, or text?”

“Some data was corrupted during removal,” Dr. Tygan said. “It is possible that some memories were encoded psionically, and so were disrupted by the removal of the chip.”

She nodded, though the Chief Scientist could not see her. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Apology accepted. If you’ll excuse me…” The doctor yawned, and the transmission cut off.

Bradford tapped the coffee table. “Sir, while Tygan was showing us the aliens’ war games, I remember seeing a girl in a ruby cloak.”

“Yang. That’s the girl’s name. Well, not the girl in the red cloak. She's the sister. I was talking to her right before you rescued me.” The Commander stood. “Oh God. I know where we'll find her.”

The Central Officer could only shake his head. “How on Earth…? You’re not psionically sensitive, are you?”

“No,” the Commander said with a grim smile, “but that chip is still transmitting.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice the Viper Lord isn't quite the same as the creature in the Alien Hunters DLC. Let's just say there's something interesting in the Viper Lord. There will be some spoilers for the DLC here on out.
> 
> That being said: Angst, war crimes and explosions, here we come!
> 
> OPERATION: Diamond Child  
> Soldiers deployed  
> \- Sq. Kelly, Squad Leader = Ranger, promotion to Corporal. INJURED: 28 days  
> \- Rk. Teuku, Mark = promotion to Grenadier. INJURED = 3 days, SHAKEN  
> \- Sq. Braun = Sharpshooter  
> \- Sq. Devgan = Specialist. INJURED = 5 days


	11. Nashira Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Commander and Yang spam ADVENT with the power of awkward memories, and Yang makes some new friends.

While forging Ember Celica, Yang had made an error in her torque calculations. The sliding guard of her gauntlets was not secured enough. It had stayed on during the test trials, when Ember Celica was strapped to a dummy and remotely fired. But the repeat strain loosened the bolts. So when Yang finally picked up her weapon and began to unload at Signal’s firing range, the sliding guard snapped off. Yang earned the second worst headache she had ever experienced.

This was the worst.

Mu Lan’s screaming had damn near deafened Yang. Tiny pinpricks of pain still echoed through her skull, as if someone had attempted brain surgery on Yang with a chainsaw. If she turned her head too quickly, bright spots popped into her sight.

At least she wasn’t as alone as before, although Yang didn’t exactly welcome her new guests. Something had changed in the mental link. Visions – well, sounds really – and ghosts of sensation occasionally played through Yang’s body.

Angelis and Daimones had noticed. They would drift in and out of her dimension of piss-green light, sometimes talking, sometimes toying with the new link.

“ _This summer one’s mind is weak_ ,” Daimones said dismissively, as purple energy coalesced around Yang’s neck. Yang summoned her Aura, but the gold of her soul’s energy slipped harmlessly through the purple. “ _Nothing like the project. That mind, we had to fool into cooperating._ ”

"Hey!" Yang's voice was raspy, but she could still talk. "Who are you calling weak?"

As always, Daimones ignored her.

“ _Hush. T_ _he project will hear us.”_ Angelis’s energy chimed in, sending a tendril straight between Yang’s eyes. Yang fought against the stranglehold, stabbing at it with angry tongues of flame, but her power kept slipping through. “ _The Fall Ears has taught us much. We will find the project, and we will bring it back into the fold._ ”

“ _Mu Lan?_ ” Yang thought. She closed her eyes as pain welled up in the center of her head. “ _Mu Lan? You’ve got to hear me! They’re trying to use me!_ ”

No one answered.

 

* * *

 

“Hi,” Mu Lan said as Yang melded into another vision. The golden brawler felt a little surge over her fingers – like Aura, the power of the soul, but not quite the fires that ran through Yang’s veins. A tiny clay teapot dropped into Yang’s hand, as if it had been floating in the air mere minutes ago. “Whatcha playing?”

“ _Mu Lan!_ ” Yang screamed for the sixtieth time. “ _They’re trying to spy on you!_ ”

Yang felt her head turn, but there was no response.

“The Royal Court’s holding a tea party.” The teapot lifted off from her hand. It plunked against coarse sackcloth. “Daddy says that’s when people eat cake.”

“He’s right. It looks like you’ve got a lot of people here.” Yang felt a familiar, hoarfrost-covered fur sensation encircling her body. “Who was invited, Princess?”

“Everyone! But everybody’s busy… even Daddy couldn’t come. Daddy told me to stay outta the way. He’s always like that when we have visitors.” A teacup landed in Mu Lan’s hand. “Will you have tea, miss?”

“Why thank you, Princess…?”

“Gemma!”

 

The sounds clouded for a moment. Yang concentrated on the faint presence. She imagined grabbing fistfuls of hoary fur.

_Come on, come on, you’ve got to hear me! Mu Lan! I’m trying to help you!_

Something crackled, and the vision returned.

 

“-I think he’s doing this because he loves you, your Highness.” Something beeped. Yang felt something cold in her palm. The warmth soon returned, muffled by scratchy fabric. A small breeze played along Mu Lan’s hand. “Let’s talk about something else. How did you lift that teapot?”

“Magic! When I think really hard–” the Auric energy pulsed: thin tendrils of energy whipped the curves of Yang’s palm, as if a galestorm sat in her hand, “–sometimes I can do this! I tried to show Daddy, but he said he was busy.”

“Hmm…” A teacup settled on the sackcloth. “Your highness, would you like to play a game? Maybe I could show you something with that magic.” The ghost of icy fur disappeared, replaced by a presence like solid steel.

“Wow! Where did you get that?”

“A little trick. I can teach you, but you can’t tell your daddy. It only works when you don’t tell anyone. Pinky promise?” Yang felt a pinkie link with her own. “Imagine you’re really small. Like the ladybug on this teacup. Or if you wanted to hide in a box. Count to three, and you’ll disappear…”

Yang mentally curled up.

_Ruby, Weiss, Blake… where are you? I’m not smart enough… you would know what to do…_

 

* * *

 

The pressure on her throat was gone.

Yang gasped for breath. Shudders wracked her body. The purple presences of Angelis and Daimones had disappeared, but she was still stuck in another vision. She could sense two other people in a small room, huddled over a desk.

“You have a choice, Rengel,” Mu Lan said. “We’ve both wronged each other in the past. The world we once knew is gone.”

“Tell me something I don’t know _, Commander_.” A man Yang assumed was Rengel scoffed. “Should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“And what kind of world would that leave for Gemma?” Mu Lan asked.

Teeth ground against each other. “Stay the fuck away from my daughter.”

Something metallic screeched. It sounded like someone was drawing a knife.

“Central, calm down," Mu Lan said. "No one is getting hurt.”

Yang did her best to tune out their words. _They will not use me against you._

A lighter clicked. “I thought you had a brain, John.” Smoke stung Yang’s nose.

_Damn it! Why isn’t it working?_

Mu Lan sighed. “Working with us is the best way to keep her safe.”

“I don’t trust you, _Melissa_.” A chair screeched against the floor. “Or is that not your real name?” Booted feet marched back and forth. “For all I know, you’ve been fucking around with ADVENT and you’re here to get us all killed!”

“Vincent, I ran the resistance with you,” said a different male voice. “I’ve worked with the Commander during the invasion. I trust her.”

  _I burn! Can't hold me back,_ Yang sang, _when you learn that I can't hear a thing!_

“John, you’ve pickled your fucking brain. Forgive me if I don’t trust you either.”

“Your wife disappeared in the Gene Therapy clinics,” Mu Lan said softly. “You never found out why. That was why you left the City Centers, no?”

The pacing stopped. “Who told you.”

“Gemma. An hour ago, over tea. Your mother, your wife, your sisters, all lost to the ADVENT clinics. She trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And I will do the same for you. I can find answers now.” Fabric whispered against a metal table. “Your daughter is psionically sensitive. ADVENT wants people like her.”

The smoke lingered in Yang’s nostrils. “You mean ADVENT could come after her.”

Yang felt Daimones lurking on the edges of her consciousness. She imagined punching the presence.

To her surprise, it withdrew.

“You lived in the City Centers,” John said, “they’re probably still looking for you. It’s different now, Vincent. We can help each other. You could help us contact other Resistance members. We can help protect Gemma. Right, Commander?”

“Correct. ADVENT’s not the only one looking for psionics,” Mu Lan said. “We had a run-in with a human group during the war. EXALT would take kids from their family, and torture them until the psionics popped out. Voilà. Living weapons.”

“Commander,” John said, “I don’t recall those AARs.”

“Sent the Security Chief. Couldn’t risk EXALT finding out.” Mu Lan’s tone was clipped. Despite her vow not to, Yang kept listening. “Until we rescued Durand, we didn’t know the kids were psionic. But we knew they were special. Who else could fire guns with their minds?”

“What happened?” Rengel asked.

“Hazurov had to mercy-kill them.”

There was a heavy silence.

“Will you stand by, and let Gemma follow in her mother’s footsteps?” Yang felt cold metal beneath her hands. “Will you let her fall into some madman’s hands? Or will you stand, and fight with us?”

_You owe me, Mu Lan. I just saved your butt._

 

* * *

 

“Commander, we’ve developed a tracker based on this chip,” said a rollicking baritone. “With your permission, I will continue the ADVENT Captain autopsy."

“Later, Tygan. I’d like you to start researching magnetic weapons.”

 _Mu Lan!_ Yang screamed. _You’ve got to shut up! They can hear you through me!_

Something cold settled in Mu Lan's hand.

Angelis and Daimones’ purple energy suddenly retreated. Mu Lan started talking.

“Thanks. When we get you, say nothing about this,” Mu Lan said quietly. “Have a plan. Apologize in advance.”

“Something wrong, Commander?” Yang heard John say. “That chip isn’t doing anything to you, is it?”

“No, Central. Thank you for your concern. I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

 

* * *

 

Yang could feel two hands carding her hair, and the brush of stubble against her neck. Two other hands caressed her belly. There was a heaviness by her side, as if someone were sitting on a bed.

 _Oh, Dust no._ Yang tried to ignore the feeling. _Mu Lan, you so owe me for this._

“ _What is this?_ ” Daimones said. “ _Angelis, this is not the present. What are we seeing?_ ”

“ _Welcome back to the living_.” The voice had an unrecognizable accent: soft, and tinged with the sea. Static played over his words. “ _Hell still hot?”_

Yang’s chest ached, as if someone had taken a hammer to her ribcage.

 _"Fuck you too,”_ Mu Lan said. She sounded younger, definitely less tired.

“ _Yup, mila’s back,”_ said a different man. It wasn’t Rengel, Tygan, or John. Yang was starting to wonder if Mu Lan lived in a world of sausage-fest. _“Nice to see you too. A thanks for gluing you back together would go a long way._ ”

Mu Lan coughed. Yang could almost feel the spatter of blood on her collarbones. “ _Don’t quit your day job. I think you left chunks of me in hell.”_

 _“This is not what we need!”_ Angelis said, drowning out the memory. “ _How can this be? Why does the link fail now? How could we lose this connec–_ ”

Yang imagined punching this presence. Angelis retreated once again, but she still lurked on the periphery of the field of lime-green light.

 _It's working!_ Yang grinned. _Though… I really wish there was less friendly fire!_

The first man laughed. It sounded more like a sob, dampening the glass-chiming voice outside the dimension of lime-green light. “ _God_ , _you scared us_.” A hand rested against Yang’s heart. “ _Keep going like this, and you’ll run out of time._ ”

“’ _Least I have you. How did I cheat death this time?”_ Mu Lan asked. There was a hiss of two breaths. Fingers brushed against Yang’s cheek. “ _It couldn’t have been that bad. I’m still here.”_

“ _Barely_ ,” said the other man. _“Remember all that crap you give us about mind, body and soul health? Practice what you preach. Do that again, and radost won’t save your ass._ ” Yang could barely hear the swat of a hand against a shoulder. There were more kisses on her forehead. “ _Ow! Radost, I didn’t mean it!_ ”

“ _Don’t fucking joke about that_ ,” said the first voice, shaking like a leaf in a gale. “ _We were way too close this time._ ”

 _Sweet Dust_. Yang shuddered. _I did not need to see this. Too much information, Mu Lan! Friendly fire here! I’m not your enemy!_

 _“This is useless!”_ Daimones hissed. It sounded like sand caught in the foamy wake of a wave. “ _The connection is dying! Did the Fall Ears lie, Angelis? With her knowledge, we should have had unlimited acceesss–“_ His voice faded into static.

 _Oh. Dust, this is so awkward._ Yang tried to ignore the ghost of lips against her collarbone. _Mu Lan, is that what you were apologizing for? You couldn’t have chosen a different memory?_

 

* * *

 

Yang almost regretted asking. There was sand in invisible wounds along her torso and arms. Yang could almost feel the life draining from her body.

 _This is so wrong_ , she thought, kicking out. Her foot came into view – unblemished and tanned, healthy as ever – then it clanged against something metallic.

“ _The summer’s mind is weakening_ ,” an eggshell-thin voice said. The stranglehold tightened around her throat. " _Her body is sound, but her mind is not._ _That must be why the connection is proving substantially less useful._ "

"Hah. Take that, you… purple energy with no sense of personal space!" Yang crowed.

Angelis hummed, uncaring of Yang's little celebration. “ _Or the project knows we are present_.”

 _They don’t know I’m talking to her._ Yang almost felt giddy. _And there’s an end to this light! I can break out! And get these guys out of my head too!_

There was an intense, sharp pain in Yang's right shoulder. She hissed.

Angelis and Daimones gave similar noises of discomfort.

“ _Get it together, Jian,_ ” she heard Mu Lan murmur. Pain wracked Yang’s sides, as if someone had stabbed her in the gut. Yang intensified the pain by bashing her foot into the wall. “ _Get to evac. Get there, and you can leave this fucking country forever. He’s dead. You’ve killed him. There were three, then two, and now there’s just you. Get it together, and get out._ ”

For the first time, Yang could move her head freely. She capitalized on her new freedom by bashing her head into the metal wall.

Daimones screamed – was the pain leaching over to him too? Whatever it was, he got the hell out of dodge.

“Nice one,” she could faintly hear Mu Lan say. There was something cold and spiky in the other woman’s hands. “Hang in there. We know where you are.”

Yang grinned. Score one for the Huntress.

 

* * *

 

Every time Angelis and Daimones attempted to invade Yang’s mind, Yang and Mu Lan would team up. Mu Lan had a million different memories of being whipped or kicked – seriously, what had that woman been up to? Yang would push out the invader by bashing her body into her prison. But after six or so rounds of various physical aches and the ghosts of throbbing wounds, Yang had about enough.

She kicked the wall again. Mu Lan sure was taking her sweet time.

“Hear that?” said an unmistakably human voice outside her prison. “I hope it’s not a lancer…”

“Easy, Fleury,” a man said. “Keep looking. The tracker says she’s here.”

“These corpses give me the heebie-jeebies,” the woman said. Metal slid over metal. “Nope, DOA. Too bad we don’t have… I don’t know, a mental link to Yang. Hey, do you think Kelly’s right? Is the Commander on ADVENT’s–”

Yang kicked against her prison of eternal lime green light. “Hi!” she croaked, “I’m here!”

“That one!” Boots clanged against the ground.

Something beeped insistently. Metal skidded over metal, and clinical white light leaked into her prison. A man with a blonde ponytail stood outside: a machete on his back, shotgun in his arms, face clawed up over his left eye as if a Beowolf had gotten its fangs into him. There was a patch on his shoulder that read XCOM.

Yang grinned. “Vigilo confido?”

 

“Vigilo confido! The name’s Brick.” the man chirped. “Have you heard of our lord and savior, the great Commandy One? You might know her as Mu Lan.”

“Yup! A little too well.” The golden brawler flexed her arms. “The name’s Yang Xiao Long!”

“Holy crap.” Fleury came over. Yang’s gauntlets peeped out of the sack on her back. “Central! We’ve got Yang! Uh, can you get down from there?”

Yang tried kicking the green light again. The man moved to catch her, but her foot harmlessly rebounded off the field.

“She’s stuck in this piss-green light,” Brick said, touching his ear. He tried to stick his hand through the field, but the minute his fingers touched the light, a bolt of electricity ran through Yang’s veins. She screamed and hung slack in the field. “We can’t touch it. It’s frying her!”

The dark-skinned woman emptied her pack – out fell armor like her own, Ember Celica, a bottle, and a boxy pistol. “Doctor," she said as she undid the armor's buckles, "we can’t get her from the stasis–”

“ _Imagine you’re really small,_ ” Yang could almost hear Mu Lan say. _“As if you were trying to hide in a box. Count to three, and you’ll disappear…”_

Yang shook her head and closed her eyes. She concentrated on her wrists, imagining cold metal wrapped around them like the vambraces of Ember Celica. She tugged on her Aura. The chains tightened around her wrist. The cold was almost palpable.

“-no, I think she’s onto something.” Fleury let go of her earpiece. “Need help?”

The golden brawler released her hold on her soul’s power. The iciness disappeared from her wrists. “I gotta feel small.”

“Would it help if I scared you?” Brick asked.

Yang laughed. “I've fought literal monsters. Try me.”

“I could point this at you.” Fleury picked up the gun.

“Trigger safety!” Brick yelped.

 

_Click_

 

(- _thousands of cameras, clicking away, unseeing eyes focusing on her – booing crowds, cries of “arrest her!” and Mercury’s moans as he cradled his broken leg-_ )

 

Yang shrank back, and pulled her soul’s power deep inside her core.

 _Click_. The field dissipated, and she fell.

Brick caught her, and gently propped her against the metal doors of her prison.

The golden brawler gasped for breath. This wasn’t the Amity Coliseum. She had done nothing wrong.

She knelt in a large room, walls lined with white cylinders. It reminded her of the ads the Atlesian Academy ran every recruitment period. All this room needed for the full Atlesian experience were some robots with massive guns welded to the back. Clinical light shone down on the trio. Fleury had tracked blood and mud into the room, and Brick had this orange and black goop on the back of his armor. The black stuff dissipated into thin trails of smoke as she watched.

“Ha – I-I’m good.” Yang touched her own shoulder. Brick handed her the bottle. She drank deeply, relishing the feel of water down her throat. “I’m good. Just need a sec. That – why didn’t that work earlier? I’ve always felt small in there… How did Mu Lan know that would work?”

Fleury and Brick shared a look, then shrugged.

“Here,” Fleury said, unfolding a set of clothes. “Put the shirt on first, the armor chafes like crazy.”

“You didn’t get my uniform?” Yang asked as she tugged the shirt over her head with shaky hands. The cloth was soft and worn. Compared to the white bands of fabric that passed for underwear in her prison, it was absolute heaven.

“I did. But it doesn’t look bullet proof.” Fleury helped her fasten the torso-piece around her chest. “And the Commandy One wants you in one piece.”

“But I’ve got my Aura!” Yang put on her gauntlets and clicked them into the ready position. Unlike Brick and Fleury, she had no armor for her arms. Ember Celica would suffice. “Mu Lan knows that. We kept talking about that in that pod. I can tank hits like no one’s business!”

Brick and Fleury shared another look. Footsteps thundered towards the room. “Look, kid,” Brick said, slotting a pistol into Yang’s belt, “all we know is that you’re an alien. Things work differently on this planet. Just… try not to die, and argue with the Commander later.”

A greying man appeared, with a massive assault rifle in his arms. He crossed the room in three quick strides. “Can you stand?” he said, kneeling next to her. “Brick, Fleury, stand guard.”

“Ready to roll-whoa!” Yang nearly toppled over, but the man caught her. “I know your voice. You’re John, right?”

His face tightened. “To some. Name’s Central. For now,” he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, “you’ll be taking the express route. Put this earpiece in.”

“You could’ve asked first,” Yang grumbled. She readied her gauntlets. If Central was carrying her, then he couldn’t use that massive assault rifle. No matter. She could pick up the slack.

“I’ll apologize later. Let’s move to EVAC,” Central said, gesturing to the other two.

 

They marched down the twisting corridors, past pods like the one that had kept her prisoner. Dark forms floated in their greenish light, contorted in unnatural poses. As they walked towards the foreign wilderness that beckoned to them through red-tinted windows, more of the team joined them. The men and women encircled Yang, guns bristling in a protective circle.

“Did you find anyone else alive?” Yang asked as they exited into bright sunlight. “Ruby, Weiss, Blake – aren’t they here?”

“Nobody but you, and a bunch of equipment,” Lights Out said. He fiddled with the reloading mechanism on his sniper rifle. Ruby would have loved his gun. “Those things? We think they’re experiments. Maybe from your planet.”

“Less chitchat.” Central readjusted Yang’s position over his shoulders. She could hear his teeth grinding. “The aliens can speak English now.”

Brick’s earpiece warbled. The blond nodded. “Central, Bravo cleared out the latest dropship.”

Central said something, but Yang drowned out the sound. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Yang breathed in. Something in the air tasted sour and empty, almost like… no… it couldn’t be. If she was on another planet, how could the creatures of darkness follow her?

She thought about the shapeless forms, suspended in green goo, lining the hallways she had just left.

A purple portal opened up between two massive trees. Out slithered a black King Taijitu. But when did Grimm wear clothes, much less learn to wear armor?

Lights Out sighed. “Snakedicks’ back!”

Central shot a withering glance at the sniper. “Just shoot it!”

 

The team scattered, and the Grimm gave chase. A black ship dropped from the skies, and deposited three troopers onto the grass. Yang found herself on top of the facility, next to a woman codenamed Akira. Central was on the other side of the roof, firing at the Grimm. Brick was on the ground, weaving in between the corpses of black-armored forms, the King Taijitu hot on his tail.

Yang hadn’t emptied Ember Celica – Central had warned her the team hadn’t found any ammo. The pistol hung at her hip, unused: Yang didn’t think she could mess up firing a gun, but she didn’t want to accidentally blow a finger off. Still, she had more than guns at her disposal.

“Hey, guys?” she asked.

“Not the time, kid.” Akira’s rifle barked. “Unless you got tips?”

“You’re fighting a King Taijitu.” A black suited Trooper turned and shot her way. Hot metal seared her back. Yang ducked behind the bannister once again, but the pain did its job. It fed the tiny sparks of Aura in her core. “We had classes on them. It’s a Grimm. It feeds on fear. The more scared you are, the more it’ll try to kill you.”

“Don’t think we’ll stop being scared.” Central killed the offending trooper. “Any weak spots?”

As if sensing her presence, the King Taijitu began to climb the facility’s wall.

Another Trooper shot their way. The bullet scored Yang’s neck, sending a new flash of pain straight to her brain.

Fire flared from her fingertips.

Yang grinned and got to her feet.

“Stay down,” Akira hissed, shoving her against the bannister. The metal scraped along Yang’s bare arms. The Specialist fired, and killed the Trooper with one shot.

Yang punched herself in the gut for one last charge.

The Grimm clambered over the roof’s railing.

“Get clear!” Central yelled. “1-6, SD’s approaching the package!”

Yang brought up her fists.

“Missed me, ugly?” she asked the Grimm, and lunged.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was particularly long, to set up stuff for the rest of RWBY. Don't worry, they're coming! 
> 
> And yes, the Viper Lord is nicknamed Snakedicks. Thanks to the commenters for that one! Soldiers historically have this fascination with sex and genitalia. Just look at WWII's "Hitler Has Only Got One Ball" song. Or all the jokes about the Navy and seamen. We are 99.9% historically accurate, here at Not-Bullshitting-At-All Inc!
> 
> I'll be going on a short hiatus while I write my midterms. Again.


	12. Nashira Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nashira: She who brings good news, of the Capricornus constellation.
> 
> In which Yang kicks Grimm ass, proves to be a better rookie than XCOM's previous rookies, and the Commander wonders if Kelly's father fought during the Troubles.

The King Taijitu snarled and spat ice at her. Well, that was something they didn’t do back on Remnant. Yang cast out her aura in a fiery shield about her form. Steam hissed, blistering her skin as the ice instantly vaporized. She charged through the clouds of vapor, closing her eyes to protect them.

Yang felt the emptiness residing in the Grimm. It was much easier on this planet: she could sense the void flexing, long muscles coiling up to strike. She jumped over its tail, and drove her foot into its spine.

The Taijitu shrieked. More ice condensed onto her skin, easing her burns. It crept up her body, threatening to consume her. She punched her gut before she became a prisoner once again. Flames washed over her skin and the Taijitu’s scales. The Grimm hissed, and swiped at her with its three-clawed hands – wait, when did Taijitus have arms?

“Duck!” Akira barked.

Yang hit the ground, and not a moment too soon. Akira’s robot buddy perched on the Grimm’s back. Sparks discharged from its carapace. The Grimm shrieked and twisted, trying to claw the robot off. Central followed up with a burst of hot metal that peppered the Grimm’s front.

“Stop shooting!” Yang grabbed hold of the Taijitu’s left arm. Aura coursed through her veins. She pulled with all her might. “I’ve got this!”

The Taijitu’s arm ripped free, black gore pouring from its wake.

Yang capitalized on her momentum, following through with a punch to its lower jaw. She jumped over a coil of its sinuous body. The Taijitu tried to spit ice once again, but she merely side stepped and let the ice spill over the roof to her right.

It lunged once again. Yang ran up its tail and jumped off its body, landing behind the beast. The golden brawler locked one arm around the mutated Taijitu’s neck. She readied Ember Celica on her free arm.

“SHOOT THE MUTON!” Central’s gun barked. “GRENADE’S OUT!”

The roof shuddered beneath her. In a flash of white light, Yang and the Taijitu fell.

Yang twisted the Taijitu to cushion her fall. It attempted to coil its body around her. They hit the ground in a cloud of grey dust. The Taijitu went slack, but Yang – her body still encased in a protective shield of Aura – powered through the ache working through her legs.

She drove Ember Celica into the back of the Viper Lord’s head. Her aura-laden fist punched through the beast’s skull as if it were mere tissue paper. Flames rippled from the impact zone. Every cylinder of green goo in the vicinity was already cracked. The power exuding from her body sealed the deal.

“Oh…” Yang backed away from the dark sludge that slid from their coffins. Bone spikes protruded from the morass as animals took shape. “Oh, these are just more Grimm.” Yang cocked her gauntlets. “Well, come and get some!”

 

Yang threw herself into the fray – left hook, right hook, sweep the legs of a Beowolf from beneath its body, burn the bone mask right off of a nascent Nevermore, lets her armor soak up hot metal that would have sliced through her Auric shields, punch out a huge robot that reminded her of an Atlesian Paladin – on and on, her fire consumed the soulless and the aliens. She was fury, bright and full of life in that sterile laboratory.

 

“Dropship!” Brick joined her in pushing back the wave of Grimm. His shotgun spat pellets that dissolved the Grimm on impact. “We’ve got a Sectoid and two Troopers! Yang, the Sectoids can raise the dead ayys!”

Yang growled at the aliens the others referred to as a Viper. “Can they bring back the Grimm?”

Brick ducked, narrowly dodging a jet of hot plasma from the aforementioned Sectoid. His gun dropped to the ground. “Let’s not find out! These fuckers don't need any help!”

The Viper lunged at Yang, tongue darting out of its gaping maw.

Brick swung, chopping off a good length of the sticky tissue. The Viper reeled, giving Yang her advantage.

The brawler charged up. Her fist glowed white hot with Aura. She swung, and smashed open its face.

Brick finished the job by chopping the Viper in two.

He tapped his ear. “Lights Out, any eyes on Bravo team?”

The Ranger didn’t notice the massive scorpion scuttling behind him.

“Heads up!” she cried.

Yang tackled him to the ground. The Death Stalker’s golden stinger embedded itself in the tiles beside their heads, completely crushing Brick’s shotgun.

Brick’s earpiece blinked red. “We need to distract the Grimm for ten more minutes!” he said, getting to his feet.

She pulled him up and pushed him to the side. It was harder to take down Death Stalkers than Creeps or Boarbatusks, even with team RWBY at her side. Luckily, this one was newly formed. Its bone armor still looked soft.

“Cut off the stinger!” Yang ordered as she threw herself into the fray. She jumped over the massive pinchers and crushed the Death Stalker’s jointed legs. Yang yelped, as she narrowly avoided taking bullets to the face.

Brick withdrew. “I’ll take care of that trooper! You hold back the Grimm! Fleury, take my place!”

Fleury darted into the mouth of the facility. Most of her shots went wide, but some punctured the Death Stalker’s eyes. The Grimm cried out and attempted to puncture the woman with its stinger.

Yang rushed forward and punched off the stinger at its junction.

The Grimm wailed, and began to dissolve.

Brick’s machete danced, throwing black goo onto the formerly-pristine walls with every strike. Akira’s GREMLIN hummed, occasionally shocking their enemies, occasionally converting the robots that marched out to XCOM’s side. Lights Out kept up a steady stream of fire that punched neat holes through heads and torsos. Central kept running back and forth, surprisingly spry for an old man, leaving a trail of death in his wake.

Whoever they were fighting wasn’t giving up. Yang could hear the blast of grenades and electronic screams. Grimm kept surging out of the facility’s depths.

But still Yang fought on. It felt like home.

She just wished it was RWBY by her side instead.

 

Though her body was still whole, the exercise was taking its toll. A Beowolf clawed up her right arm before Zero peppered it full of bullets. Central grenaded a cluster of emerging Creeps. The shrapnel tore thin lines across her armored legs. Each breath became more laborious; each punch took a little more energy than the last.

“Hold the line!” Central shouted. “Three more minutes!”

 

At last, the sheer number of Grimm forced Yang out of the facility. She rested in the shadow of a great tree, where Zero was patching up Akira. Central was fighting off the last of the nearby aliens.

Gunfire to her right drew her attention.

Two more soldiers came running out of laboratory’s depths and onto the blood-slicked, Grimm-drenched battlefield. Heavy knapsacks clunked on their backs. A wave of Grimm chased after them.

"I've got eyes on Vespara and Wildfire!" Lights Out said.

“Sir!” Zero’s GREMLIN dispensed a cooling mist over Akira’s prone body. “We need to EVAC! There’s transports coming now!”

Central’s machete came down, cleaving what Brick called a Sectoid in two. He tossed something on the ground. Blue light fanned out beneath his feet.

“Everyone up!” he called. “Yang, grab a rope!”

Yang shook golden hair out of her face, and looked up. A ship had appeared silently above her. Ropes descended. Yang did as Central said, and was pulled into a dark room lined with seats.

The rest of the team soon followed: battered, but alive. Yang looked out on the facility that had held her prisoner – a squat black monstrosity that didn’t belong in the surrounding forest. A flood of Grimm milled about on the forest floor. The door rose up, blocking her view.

“Firebrand to Avenger, package is on board!” a woman said.

“Charges are set to detonate,” Wildfire said. “Sir, on your orders.”

Central nodded. The ship jerked. Yang could almost feel the wind rushing past its steel walls. In the distance, she could hear something exploding.

“And there goes that place!” Lights Out whooped. “How’s that taste, ADVENT?”

“You’re meeting the first friendly alien ever,” Akira said, polishing her weapon, “and that’s how you introduce yourself.”

_Friendly._

She was free.

A laugh bubbled onto her lips. “Nah… that’s pretty much how I feel. That’s what they’re called? ADVENT?”

The eldest man folded his arms over his chest and leaned against his seat. A faint smile played over his lips – she had seen that same look on her uncle’s face, when she bested him in Mortal Kombat.

“Welcome to XCOM, Yang. That was quite a fight.” Central set his gun on his lap. “Seems like you could be one of us.”

“If Mu Lan lets me join you.” Yang shrugged. “She didn’t seem that eager when we talked about it.”

Fleury tilted her head. She unhooked the rifle from its place on her back. “Speaking of which. You said you talked to the Com- Mu Lan? Pretty recently too.”

 That was apparently news to the rest. Yang could faintly hear uneasy mutters, and the click of weaponry against the hard seats.

“It’s okay,” Wildfire said quickly. “We’re not angry or anything. We just really need to know everything, so we can kick ADVENT off our planet.”

“And find my friends?” Yang asked.

“XCOM is sworn to rescue everyone we can from the aliens,” Vespara said. “At least, that’s why I joined.”

Yang squirmed. Her stomach rumbled. “Uh… could a girl get something to eat first?”

“Wait until you’ve had a checkup,” Brick said. “It would suck if you’re allergic to something on Earth.”

“You gave me that water,” she said.

Central shrugged. “We had some intel. Knew you shouldn’t react to it.”

Yang rolled her shoulders. “Well… Ever since I got captured – well, we didn’t really talk for a while, but then I started having these visions, and I could see what Mu Lan was doing…”

 

* * *

 

Yang had told most of her story by the time they landed. The XCOM soldiers had traded their stories: the invasion, the subsequent capitulation of the government, followed by complete silence on how they had formed a resistance. Yang had an uncomfortable feeling she had lived through this before.

She shook her head. Why couldn’t she remember?

_Ah well. I’m free, and I’m gonna find my friends._

Yang walked off the ramp, savoring the rush of wind across her cheeks. The sun sat on the horizon, dipping between twin mountains. Below the massive ship they called the Avenger, she could see lush green fields. Her rescuers followed her into the ship, all chatting to themselves.

“–personally, I’ve never liked how science was portrayed in comic books,” Yang heard Mu Lan say. “Science is always some sort of prize, instead of a journey.”

“True,” Tygan said – was it Tygan? Yang recognized that voice, “but there is no grant money for an endless journey. You must have results in order to continue that journey. No, Commander, I believe science–“

As Yang and co. entered the orange-lights of the Armory, the two speakers came into view.

Mu Lan and a black man were on their knees, rope encircling their torsos. There was a woman, hair tied back in a ponytail, a baseball cap sitting on her head, with a machete blade at Mu Lan’s throats. Another woman, with a GREMLIN hovering over her shoulders, stood behind Tygan. More men and women stood behind the two kneeling figures, all armed to the teeth.

“Ah, Central,” Mu Lan said. “Although it looks like we’re filming propaganda for a certain terrorist group, I can assure you, we are not terrorists.”

 

“The fuck are you doing?” Central was shaking. His fingers reflexively curled. Yang tensed – that was the look of men ready to pull the trigger. “Men – Kelly, Shen – you should be ashamed of–“

“She’s been talking to the aliens,” the pony-tailed woman spat. “And Tygan’s been helping her. Why else–“

“Wait, do you mean me?” Yang tapped her chest. “Hi! I’m the alien! And Mu Lan was trying to help me.”

“Calm down, Tygan, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Mu Lan said to the man beside her. “Kelly, I can explain everything–“

The knife cut a thin line over Mu Lan’s throat. Mu Lan sighed and stopped talking.

“Central, what should I do with her?” Kelly asked.

“Wait, the Commander can talk to the aliens?” someone asked.

“Are you sure we’re secure?” another asked.

“But we’ve been gaining ground against ADVENT!” someone else said.

“Enough!”

Everyone froze.

Central raised his hands. “Trust your Commander, people. Think about it. Why would the Commander rescue people from ADVENT’s clutches? Why would she send us to bomb their weapons depots if she’s working for them? She has had over three weeks to betray us. And yet, here we are. ADVENT hasn’t even sent a dropship after us. Don’t you find that suspicious? That’s not what happened to every other rebel group with a traitor in their midst. Kelly, you’ve seen it before. Those groups didn’t last two weeks.”

The tension in the Hangar eased.

Kelly’s machete wavered. “But if she was talking to the aliens–“

“The _name_ is Yang,” the Huntress said. “Mu Lan helped me kick the bad aliens out of my head.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, Commander?” the woman with the GREMLIN over her shoulder asked. She didn’t sound angry, just… well, she sounded like Yang’s dad, after Yang flunked her math test.

“Loose lips cost lives, Shen,” Mu Lan said. The placid smile never left her lips. “It takes much energy to run this organization, the Resistance, and hide from ADVENT. If there was any benefit to telling you all, I would have done so.”

Central turned to Yang. “And can you still contact the Commander?”

 

Yang felt for the cold steel presence in the kneeling woman before her. “Nope. Whenever we talked, I could feel her. Now? I can’t even tell she’s there. Not that I can sense you guys either.”

“Are you satisfied?” Tygan asked, shifting on his haunches. “Kelly, your ribs will take longer to heal if you keep standing.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Kelly spat. But she removed her machete from Mu Lan’s throat.

“Are we free to go?” Mu Lan asked.

“Of course, Commander,” Central said. “Zero, if you’d release the–“ but Mu Lan was already standing and shrugging off the ropes.

“Word to the wise.” Mu Lan undid the ropes around Tygan’s chest. The black man slowly got to his feet, rubbing his legs all the while. “Kelly, your rope work is a little loose. But if I were trying to sabotage XCOM, you would have done well.” She looked at Yang. “This isn’t quite the welcome I wanted to give you, Yang.”

The soldiers behind her took the cue to put their weapons away. Central’s hands never left his gun. “Should we start the mission briefing, sir?” he asked.

“Yes. Tygan, please give Yang a checkup–” Shen made an impatient noise behind the Commander. Mu Lan sighed. “Tygan, give Yang a check-up. Shen, please monitor him. I trust you will not harm him. Then come to our meeting in the AWC. The rest of you, dismissed. I will talk to you later tonight.”

 

* * *

 

The oatmeal was nothing like her dad’s cooking, but it was warm, sugary, and best of all, it filled Yang’s grumbling stomach. The rest of her rescuers had either fruit or strips of some kind of meat. Yang hoped she would be cleared to eat regular food – seriously, those apples looked delicious – after her grace period. Tygan had declared her free of all ADVENT bugs or chips. Shen had checked her as well, and said the same.

On one hand: yay! No more obnoxious purple presences with no sense of personal space!

On the other hand: it was kinda lonely in her head.

Yang shook off the feeling. It was hard not to absorb the energy radiating off her new teammates.

The injured soldiers – including Kelly – lay on cots packed into the tiny room. Central had settled against a wall, arms crossed, looking like Uncle Qrow sans the massive longsword. The GREMLINs no longer buzzed over Zero and Akira’s shoulders – or, as Yang had recently learned, Devgan and Yoshida. Everyone seemed to use their last names here. The only exceptions were Central and the Commander.

Mu Lan walked back and forth, answering questions from everyone in the tiny room. The woman was nothing like Yang expected – her black hair was tied up in a neat bun, not the loose hair Yang imagined. Her face was unlined, but there were hints of scars below her collar. Mu Lan wore a solid dark grey uniform like Central’s, but there was no weapons harness across her lean shoulders. She walked like Weiss – head up, shoulders back, paces carefully measured.

“–I contacted Tygan. We soon learned I could only contact Yang if the chip was embedded in my skin. No, Central, I merely had its prongs stuck in my hand. The chip is far more complicated than I thought.”

“With your permission, Commander,” Tygan said, with the air of a man who was tired of asking, “I would like to finish the ADVENT Captain autopsy.”

“Granted.” Mu Lan smiled at him. “I’m sorry for jerking you around, Dr. Tygan.”

“Speaking of jerking around,” Central said, “never attack your Commander like that again, Kelly.”

Kelly winced, and looked away. “I’m sorry, Commander. It’s just… all those weird surges in energy. We’ve spent most of our lives on the run, you know? We’re still… well… we’re still scared this is all a dream. We’re still waiting for ADVENT to backstab us.”

Her teammates looked at her. Yang guessed Kelly was usually a reserved person who didn’t share much. She filed that information away. Maybe Kelly just needed a friend, and after the loneliness of her imprisonment, Yang wouldn’t mind more friends.

 

Mu Lan shrugged and kept smiling. Yang took note of that as well. Either the woman had patience the size of a Goliath Grimm, or she was secretly a sociopath.

“ _I work with people who think it’s appropriate to give their supervisors swimwear, Yang_!” the golden brawler could almost hear Mu Lan say.

…or Mu Lan had been a school teacher. Dust knows, Yang certainly had her fair share of driving her teachers up the wall, her father Taiyang and Uncle Qrow included.

“I guessed, Kelly, and I think I can understand,” Mu Lan said gently. “You did what you thought best, and the rumors certainly didn’t help.” Her smile dimmed. “That being said, I would like to remind everyone. We are a _secret_ paramilitary organization. Unfounded rumors almost cost me and Dr. Tygan our lives. Had Central not interfered, there would have been innocent blood shed tonight.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, as Mu Lan looked everyone in turn.

The ghost of a thousand injuries fluttered over Yang's skin.

“There will be secrets,” Mu Lan continued, “and I will do my best to tell you the truth whenever I can. But you need to _trust_ me. I want to help you. Earth is my home too. I want ADVENT out of here, and I can only do so if you trust me.”

Central spoke up. “Urist, it seems you were the source of the rumors. Your access to personnel files is hereby revoked. Do that again, and we’ll fire you.”

The Grenadier nodded.

“In lighter news,” Central said, and motioned to Yang, “it seems we have a new recruit. If you’re still up for it, kiddo.”

“Sure am.” Yang puffed out her chest. “I’ve fought Grimm since I was a kid. It looks like the aliens took over my planet as well.”

“And you have family they abducted?” Shen asked.

“Yup.” Yang looked down. “I don’t know if my parents are still alive. But I heard Daimones and Angelis talking about Ruby, Blake and Weiss. They’re still out there.”

She could feel the pity pouring into the room. Yang didn't want sympathy. She wanted to move.

Yang smashed her fists together. Flames leapt from her palms.

“I’ve got a lot to offer, Mu Lan,” she said, and blew out her flames. “And I wanna fight.”

 

All eyes turned to Mu Lan. The woman pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Hiring child soldiers… Central, are you sure we’re not terrorists?”

“I’m not a kid!” Yang’s hair flared up behind her. “I chose to fight Grimm long ago. I’m old enough to decide how I want to die now.”

"Morbid." Akira felt the bandages under her uniform. "But that's why most of us are here. We were teens when the aliens invaded, Commander."

“They have a point, sir,” Tygan said.

“She kicked some serious ass out there, sir.” Lights Out finished wrapping up his arm – no, his name was Braun. She would have to remember that. “We wouldn’t have fought off the Grimm without Yang.”

“And she killed the Viper Lord with one punch!” Brick said. “You owe her, Kelly.”

Kelly raised her hands. “Okay, okay. Thanks for killing the fucker that nearly killed me, Yang.”

Mu Lan had lost her smile. The woman looked like she was ready to crack into a million pieces.

“You okay, Mu Lan?” Yang asked. “If it’s really too much, I guess I could help you figure out Dust and stuff… I’m really better with my fists though…”

Mu Lan closed her eyes. When she opened them, the smile returned. This one seemed more friendly than the perpetual placid smile she had kept for the majority of the interrogation.

“That will be Commander, not Mu Lan, from now on.” She tilted her head. “Central, if you will?”

Central picked up a patch from the nearby counter, and handed it to Yang. It had the same insignia as the one Fleury and Vespara bore: a large circle, with a solid one in the center.

 

“Welcome to XCOM, rookie Xiao Long,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OPERATION: Vengeful Dance  
> Soldiers deployed  
> \- Central (CO Bradford), squad leader = Ranger, INJURY WORSENED = 10 days  
> \- Brick (Lt. Odinson) = Ranger  
> \- Wildfire (Cpl. Urist) = Grenadier, INJURED = 4 days  
> \- Akira (Sgt. Yoshida) = Specialist, INJURED = 9 days  
> \- Zero (Cpl. Devgan) = Specialist  
> \- Lights Out (Cpl. Braun) = Sharpshooter  
> \- Rk. Vespara, Ian = promotion pending  
> \- Rk. Fleury, Mina = promotion pending 
> 
> I really want to make Yang's codename "One Punch." But that's way too obvious. Besides, what happened to the Internet after ADVENT took over? It would be kinda sad if all Bradford could salvage of Earth's Internet history were memes and manga. 
> 
> Next chapter: things steadily get worse for the Commander, and better for Yang.


	13. Mekbuda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently sticking a humanoid alien with a bunch of psychologically damaged eggs is not a great idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mekbuda, of the Gemini constellation: the pulled in paw.

“–thank you, _Central._ ” The isolation suit muffled the tapping of Shen's fingers on her tablet. “For the thousandth time, Yang is 100% ADVENT free.” ROV-R hovered over the engineer’s shoulders as she turned to Yang. “ADVENT vaccinated you against Earth diseases. Didn't think they had it in them to be nice.”

“But we do not know if the reverse is the same.” Tygan wrote something on his own tablet. “I recommend a one week quarantine.”

“A week?” Yang groaned. “You weren’t worried about that when I showed up. Did someone die or something?”

“No, but we’ve got to be careful.” Lily tapped the far wall. A video of twisting stars began to play over the dull metal.  “Besides, we need to know how to kill Grimm. You can draw,” she drew a finger down the wall: a blue stripe appeared in her finger’s wake as the screen whited out, “or type, whatever you like. And when you’re bored, there’s movies and books. There's not a lot, and we don't have Remnant stuff, so add to it if you like.”

Yang crossed her arms. “I’m still stuck in here.”

“The more we know, the faster we will find your friends,” Tygan said. “We searched five different facilities for you. Now that you are missing, ADVENT surely has tightened security. Without your help, the search will be vastly more difficult.”

“Find anyone?” Yang asked.

“No one living, and there's the videos to prove it,” Shen said. “But we know how to fix you up if you get hurt, without worrying about–“

“Everyone I know is dead. Great.” Yang clenched her fists. Flames popped up along her wrists. “I want to get out there, and kill every single alien–“

“And you will!” ROV-R buzzed around Lily’s head, as if sensing her discomfort. She hugged the tablet. “The Commander knows what to do! Just… just trust her, okay?”

“Like she would understand!” Yang punched the pillow. To her disappointment, only a small flame crept up the soft fabric instead of the inferno she desired. “Ruby, dad, Uncle Qrow – if they’re dead, I’m gonna kill the– I want to move! Mu Lan knows this!”

“I do.”The door closed soundlessly behind Mu Lan. Unlike Tygan and Lily, she wore no isolation suit, only the dull dark-greys of her uniform.

“Why are you keeping me locked up?” Yang demanded. “I can help!”

“Commander,” Dr. Tygan said. “I have gathered all that I could, and request–“

“I’ll consider it in a moment.” Mu Lan gestured at the door. “Shen, Tygan, will you give me some time alone with Yang?”

“Why aren’t you listening?” Yang punched her pillow. The flame winked out of existence beneath her fist. “Damn it! I just wanna–“

“Commander,” Lily said, “I–"

The elder woman locked eyes with the engineer, then the scientist. “Please trust me, Lily. Tygan, I will be fine. Will you leave us now?”

The two quietly filed out.

 

Mu Lan turned to Yang. “I’m sorry about that.” She bore Ember Celica in a clear case under one arm. “Your weapons have been cleaned.”

Yang snatched back the case. “I don’t understand.” She unlocked the case and ran a finger along her gauntlets. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I do trust you. But nature can be a limiting factor. You were in that tank for twenty or so years.” Mu Lan gestured to the monitoring equipment beeping away next to the touchscreen wall. “When you are better, we will see.”

Yang punched her fists together again. “I’m as healthy as I’ll ever be! I punched through the Grimm at the facility.”

The Commander raised an eyebrow. “How about a deal? If you can pin me to the floor,” she tapped the ground with the toe of her boot, “you'll go on the next mission. If you beat me, you’ve won your place on the squad. If I defeat you, you’ll rest up until I say you’re ready. Old woman like me, shouldn't be too hard."

The golden brawler cocked her head. She considered the narrow confines of the isolation cell. “There’s got to be a catch.”

“No gauntlets, just woman to woman. Tap on the floor or wall when you yield. Other than that, none.” Mu Lan held out a hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Yang cocked her head.

 _Ruby and the rest are waiting for you!_ _Do it! They don’t understand!_

They shook.

Mu Lan flicked her hand. Yang’s bed folded up into the wall. Heavy iron shields slid down the isolation room’s sides, covering the door. Yang put down her gauntlets’ case by the door. The golden brawler took up a stance in the far corner of the room: fists raised, legs bent, ready to strike. Mu Lan stood on the opposite side, thumbs loosely hooked into her belt.

“Ready when you are,” Mu Lan said.

Yang tilted her head – that was not a combat-ready pose – but she wasn’t going to pass up her advantage. If the woman really was fifty-five years old, and didn’t have Aura, Yang would have to go easy. The golden brawler charged forwards, right fist held aloft. She closed the distance in half a second. Yang swiped – faster than she was used to, Earth must be different from Remnant – and yet Mu Lan still stepped out of the way and let Yang rush on towards the wall.

“Weaken me first,” Mu Lan said. “It'll be more effective.”

Yang growled and charged again. She dropped to the floor and swept out with one leg. Yet again, Mu Lan stepped out of the way.

“Better,” Mu Lan said in that same irritatingly calm voice. “Watch your back. Right foot out, strengthen your stance.”

Yang decided not to go easy after all.

“Just shut up and fight!”

Yang punched over and over again, but her fists passed through thin air or barely missed Mu Lan’s face. The other woman would occasionally grab Yang’s arm and redirect the punch, but otherwise, made no move to attack. The elder woman kept suggesting improvements while dodging each strike. It was like Taiyang was standing in the Commander’s place, teaching Yang how to fight all over again.

Yang didn’t appreciate the resemblance.

They fought on. Yang pressed Mu Lan forward, until the elder was backed up against a wall. Yang finally scored a punch deep in Mu Lan’s gut.

“ _Shibanyak!_ ” Mu Lan doubled over. "Good!" she gasped, "now press your advantage!"

Yang thought she had the other woman on the ropes, but Mu Lan kept dodging.

“Why – won’t – you – go – down?” Yang grunted, fists impacting against the metal shields.

“Not in my nature,” Mu Lan said, and struck. Yang found herself on the floor, right arm twisted painfully above her head. Her left leg was cramped beneath her back. Mu Lan had a knee planted in Yang’s stomach – the woman's other leg anchored her to the floor.

“Break your stance, huh?” Yang grumbled, kicking out. She tried to punch the older woman with her free arm. Her left arm screamed in protest.

“Do you yield?”

Yang frowned and looked away.

Mu Lan wrung Yang’s right arm.

“I give! I give! Ow, what was that for?”

“Things are a little different here.” Mu Lan got up and offered Yang a hand. Yang dusted off her leather skirt and got off the floor. The elder woman shrugged and flicked her hand, causing the shielding to retreat. “Huntresses are very independent. At XCOM, you work is dependent on a team, under my orders. Follow your leader, or you’ll get killed.”

“Fine. Dust,” Yang grumbled, plopping onto the fold out bed. “I just wanted to help.”

“You already did.” Mu Lan sat beside her. “Remember that Viper Lord – Taijitu, was it?”

“That thing? That was tiny.”

“We’ve never fought anything like that.” Mu Lan pointed out the clear plexiglass door, to the wounded lying on cots in the AWC. “Six of the people in here. Kelly, Urist, Yoshida, Jung, Ohuruogo and Devgan. All of them were nearly killed by that beast. We fought it for four weeks. You killed it in three minutes. We need you, Yang, but we also need you alive. If you tell us what you know, and help us fight, we can be so much stronger.”

The golden brawler slumped against the wall. “You don’t understand… everyone I know is probably dead.”

Mu Lan let out a long breath. “You’re right. I don’t know. But maybe I could listen. How are you feeling?”

 _It’s okay_ , a small voice said in Yang’s head. _Let it out. You want to be in good shape. Mind, body and soul. Just pretend she’s dad, or Uncle Qrow.  
_

"Are we seriously doing this?"

"Every XCOM employee must undergo a psychological evaluation before going on the field." Mu Lan shrugged at Yang's questioning glance. "We don't want someone going crazy and killing their teammates."

"I'm not a bad person, I swear." Yang ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve… I’ve never been this lonely before… and if most of my family's dead, I… I don't really want to go on.” The wolf-like presence settled around her hands, urging her on. Yang let out a bitter laugh. She thought of petting Zwei. What had happened to her childhood pet? “I thought I had all the time in the world,” she said. “I could grow up, go on adventures, tell Blake I… never mind. It’s gone now.”

Yang thought of cat ears perched upon wavy black locks. Had she kissed those ears? The memories were hazy, but she could almost feel the soft hair beneath her fingers.

“There’s a little song. I thought it would fit me and her.” Yang shook her head. “She was into this guy, but I just hoped - It’s really popular on Remnant… at least, it was when I was there…”

“Is it one you sang to me?” Mu Lan asked.

“Maybe… It goes like, _You are my star_ , _you are the one_ …” Yang could almost see Blake swinging through the air, Gambol Shroud’s ribbon taut in her hands, and the moon silhouetting the lithe Faunus. “ _You make me smile when the world's come undone_.” Ghostly hands settled on her hips, and friendly hands encircled her wrists. “ _You are the one who sweeps me off of my feet,_ _you totally rock…_ ”

“Does it then…” Mu Lan hummed the tune.

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly like that.” Yang sighed. “Dad used to have the radio on all the time. You remember the lullabies he wrote for me, right?”

“Of course.” The elder woman looked guilty. “I only remember the chorus… I’m afraid I won’t be singing any lullabies.”

Yang shook her head. “Are you trying to heal me through the power of song?”

“I wish I could.” Mu Lan raised an eyebrow. “But are you feeling better?”

The golden brawler couldn’t help it. She giggled. “Dust, you’re so lame!”

“I’m only fifty-five.” Mu Lan crossed her arms. “How do you say it? I’m still cool.”

“Yup! Totally lame." Yang stuck out her tongue. "You're just like my uncle: he thinks he's so cool when he's all old and crusty like you.”

Mu Lan waved her hand. “Straight for the throat. Taking friendly fire, I'll need a minute.”

“What, so you can get a cast? _You're crazy and cool_ ,” Yang sang, though it was rather hard when she was grinning so widely. She could almost hear Blake groaning at her puns. “ _Everything's all that I love about you/Girl of my dreams, you would make my life complete._ ”

“ _But you're a distant dream to me_.” Mu Lan’s voice was soft, almost wistful. “ _Then I know and I know that you're — out of my league_ …“

“ _How could it ever be?_ ” Yang finished. “ _What am I supposed to do/Just sit here and not fall in love with you?_ ”

Her Aura glowed within her body. She remembered Blake pawing at a bowl of fish-laden noodles, and her Cat Faunus scything through Grimm like a storm through wheat. Dust, it was so easy to fall for her…

“ _Can I do anything to conceal it?_ ” they chorused. “ _Can I lock up my heart and not feel it?_ _Try to hide from the fact_ / _That there’s no turning back_ –

“ _I'm in love,”_ Yang sang, but Mu Lan did not follow.

“Hey! You ditched me!”

“Sorry, Yang.” Mu Lan scratched her head. “I have to choose my words. Remember when I told you about getting swimwear from my employees?”

“Yeah… oh. You don’t want a repeat of that?”

“I’d prefer not to. It’s a little creepy when your employees know your clothing size.” Mu Lan stretched, wincing slightly.

“You okay?” Yang stood and went to the medicine table. “I… jeez, I didn’t mean to hurt you… you’re probably old and fragile now…”

“I resent that. In any case: I need your measurements, to fit you for new armor.”

“Are you really going to send me out?”

“Of course.” Mu Lan pointed at Yang's lap. “Not wise to keep a phoenix cooped up, unless you’re willing to play with fire.”

Yang looked at her fists. They were still smoking. She blew out the embers.

“Hey… thanks for talking to me," she said. "I… somehow, I get the feeling I've lived through this before…"

"Any time. I'm used to it." Mu Lan tapped her face. “Side effect of permanent mom face.”

“…Really? That’s a thing?”

The other woman shrugged. “People tell me their problems, and I try to help out. Or, they break something, and I have to go fix it. XCOM is really just a bunch of heavily armed toddlers.”

“And you’re not wearing a hazard suit,” Yang noted.

“I thought you might appreciate talking to someone outside of a suit.” Mu Lan’s Scroll beeped. “It seems my mom powers are needed,” she said lightly. “Can I depend on you to teach us how to fight Grimm?”

“Of course.” Yang looked down at her gauntlets. “I’m not my sister, but I could make you guys some new weapons too.”

“Excellent. In a week, challenge me when you’re ready.” Mu Lan went to the door. “Oh. Yang, I think you should know. You look human, but you are technically an alien here. XCOM… hasn’t had very good interactions with human-like aliens. They helped take over our planet. So most of our employees are rather… paranoid, shall we say.”

“Lemme guess. Someone’s gonna try to kill me?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Keep your ears open, play nice, and please don’t tell anyone we fought. The room is sound-proofed, but I’d like to stop any rumors.” Mu Lan motioned for Lily and Tygan to enter. “Vigilo confido, Yang. Maybe I should introduce you to karaoke.”

"Kar-what?" Yang asked, but Mu Lan had already left.

 

* * *

 

Yang doodled on her wall, fingers moving in easy strokes. The AWC was much quieter during the night cycle. A few people moved in and out – some on crutches, others bearing trays of medical supplies – but otherwise, it was quiet. She was housed in an isolation chamber, one out of several lining the corridor to the AWC. The walls were thicker than any of the others she had seen in the Avenger, but they were still quite thin. Yang guessed it was to keep transmissible diseases locked in.

And apparently, that made the chambers good places for secret meetings.

“Koll… what’re we gonna do if the Commander’s a spy?” asked a female voice – Kelly, the Ranger.

“What can we do?” Fabric ruffled, as if Odinson were shrugging. “She’s the best bet we have at kicking ADVENT’s ass. She knows what to do, and she’s good at it.”

“Don’t you find it suspicious?” Padded feet thudded against the floor in the other room. “She was contacting that alien. She knows where ADVENT’s hiding before we see them. Strike Five found that cell in the middle of fuck-all, and their leader somehow knows the Commander! And everyone’s spilling their secrets left and right! Even I told her what I felt. You know that’s not like me. Why do we trust her so much?”

“Yeah. The ADVENT thing is kinda crazy. But the Commander has always been good with tactics.”

Kelly’s steps grew more frantic. “What did Urist find? The Commander was hooked up to a psionic network. She was working for them.”

“Or ADVENT was using her.” Odinson sighed. “Jane, relax. The Commander did the exact same thing in the last war. Hell, that’s why I signed back up. When everything went to hell, the Commander was there. She kept us going in the last war.”

“To help us, or drive us to hell? Nobody knows who that woman is, or where she came from! How are we supposed to trust her?”

“Maybe there’s a good reason _why_ , Jane.” Odinson blew out a breath. “Look. Just, think about it. Maybe she wants to help us, and we all want help. So when she says, hey, could we talk…”

“I spilt it in front of _everyone!”_ A fist thumped against the wall. “That is definitely not me!”

“I’m hearing a lot of frustration that’s bubbling up, and sooner or later,” Odinson made a popping noise, “you're gonna blow.”

“God, you’re such an asshole. There’s a pattern. Bluish lights. Feeling happier, more confident. Then your cakehole spills your secrets like a damned drunk. That stinks of a trap.” The steps grew louder. “And then that alien! Looks like a human, but isn’t. I’d bet my life that she’s some damn pod person.”

“Okay, you lost me.”

“Don’t you understand how serious this is?”

Odinson’s voice grew flinty. “You don’t understand how terrifying the first contact was. Yes, I do know how fucking serious this is, and that’s why I’m keeping my nose clean. I’m scared. But I’m gonna trust my commanding officer.”

“Well, I find it plenty scary that we’ve got a potential spy in the room right next to us!”

“Jane. Yang can probably hear you. Can we not play conspiracy theorists?”

“I’m not fucking crazy, _Koll_. There’s something fucky going on, and I’m gonna find out what!”

Odinson sighed again. “Jane, we lost the last war because countries didn’t trust XCOM to help them. Could we… you know, not repeat that?”

“Fine!” Kelly hissed. “I’ll let it drop! God, you’re useless. No wonder XCOM lost the war!”

“Oookkay then,” Odinson said. He didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll see you in Ranger practice tomorrow.”

Yang ran a finger over Ember Celica. The metal was cool to the touch, grounding her.

 _So that’s what Mu Lan meant_ … _man, I need a freaking PR department. Good thing I'm the life of the party!_

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Yang woke to the sound of pacing. Kelly patrolled the corridor outside: brow furrowed, fists clenched, ponytail bobbing…

“Failed the psych eval,” Kelly muttered, “bedrest for a few more days, fuck that! Evora’s gotta help me out. Those black gooey fuckers are crawling around my home! She’s not doing a damn thing–”

Yang remembered last night. She got out of bed and tapped the door.

Kelly whirled around, fists held high. “Whaddya want?”

“To help.” Yang pulled out a screen of the King Taijitu XCOM had encountered. “Remember this guy?”

“Fucker put me in the ward, of course I do.”

“They don’t have arms where I come from. Those arms are really easy to pull off.” Yang drew a circle around the head. “The bones are thinnest here. Chop or punch out its eyes. The rest of its body is so hard, you can’t hurt it.” Yang shrugged. “I mean, that’s only if you want to kick its ass.”

Kelly’s shoulders hunched. “Oh, so you’re in the network too?”

“What are you talking about?” Yang asked, feigning ignorance. “I just wanted to help.”

“Yeah, that’s what ADVENT said,” Kelly said, and stomped off.

“Rude,” Yang muttered.

 

Another woman came by later that day – burly, wicked grin slashing her tan cheeks, and a long dragon tattoo undulating along her bare arms. She slid a case of metal parts and a grenade launcher into the isolation chamber. After a few seconds of decontamination, the weapons dropped onto Yang's bed.

"New toys?" Yang asked, already beginning to disassemble the grenade launcher.

"Yeah, the Commander wants to see if you can improve our weapons." The woman shrugged. “Name’s Anwen Urist. Heard what you and Jane were talking about.”

Yang threw her hands into the air. “Dust, she’s worse than Weiss! I just don’t understand you people.”

Anwen laughed. “No kidding. Kelly's a… special person. She's better drunk. Me, I wouldn't mind learning. Any other tips on fighting the Grimm?”

“Professor Port, I am so sorry I slacked off during your class,” Yang muttered. “Uh, fire in their mouths. It really depends on the type of Grimm. Explosives always work. I'm personally a fan of punching them to death, then popping in a few shots. I call it going out with a Yang.”

“Grenadier at your service.” Anwen bowed, and plopped onto the floor before the door. “I’m listening, professor Yang. How do I best blow up a Grimm?”

Yang considered the woman. She seemed friendly enough. “Well, back on Remnant, we had this stuff called Dust. Nature’s Wrath, Weiss called it. Her family mines the stuff. It’s really explosive…”

They spent the next four hours talking about grenade designs and XCOM: apparently, the Avenger had set down in some place called Romania, and was attempting to establish contact with a resistance cell. The Commander was leading teams to clear out ADVENT strongholds. Better grenades meant the resistance cells would be better protected if ADVENT came calling.

"-And so Devgan pulls out his grenade and goes, _shit, it's all potato!_ Had to chuck it at the Pectoid." Anwen mimed throwing a ball, and laughed. "So that's how we found out Ayys are allergic to potatoes."

Yang shook her head. "Man, Nora would love you guys…"

"I love being a Grenadier," Anwen said, and winked. "You could say it's a blast. Welp, gotta go help clear out the Ayys. See you there in six days!"

 _Maybe I could become a Grenadier_ , she thought as Anwen left.

Ember Celica gleamed in the light. Yang thought of Ruby, cuddling her scythe.

_On second thought, I can’t betray my babies like that. These XCOM soldiers don't seem so bad… wonder why Mu Lan was so worried._

 

* * *

_A day later…_

“Christiano, come here please,” Mu Lan said in the next-door room.

Yang perked up. XCOM was like one of those bad Mistralian soap operas Ruby would leave on TV to laugh at.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Christiano said as the door closed behind him.

“I’ve set the cameras off for fifteen minutes. I want to make this clear: if Central learned about this, you would be in a very different situation.”

“…If you say so, sir.”

Boots tapped against the floor. “While I appreciate the effort, slipping something into my food was far more likely to kill someone else, like Central.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir”

“Christiano Evora. As the Commander of the XCOM project, I have access to all security cameras.”

The man was silent.

“I have never willingly worked for the aliens. I never will. You are fighting the wrong enemy.”

“Just wondering, sir, why do we have Yang on board? You brought the enemy to our ship.”

“Yang is not your enemy. That Viper Lord was about to wipe us out, and we are here to protect people. That thing put Kelly into the AWC for a month. You know this.” There was the sound of liquid sloshing. “Cyanide. Try something less detectable next time.”

Christiano remained silent.

“How can I help you, Christiano? What do you want?” Mu Lan sighed. “Is it revenge for fallen family? Is it anger at ADVENT? I am trying my best to help you, but you need to tell me what do you want.”

There was the sound of protesting hair. “I’m not listening. I’m not – oh god, it’s this feeling again. What are you doing? Stop it! Stop – this is definitely–“

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Let me go!”

“You’ve been free to walk out ever since this conversation started.” Mu Lan’s voice grew stern. “I believe you stayed because you know exactly how much trouble you are in. If Central were awake, we would be holding a hearing. The penalty for attempting to assassinate a superior officer is typically exile. Oftentimes, it is death.”

“Look, sir, I never tried.”

“Please don’t lie to me. You’re smarter than this, Christiano. You know you have nothing to gain from killing an innocent woman.”

“I’m innocent, sir.”

“Mmmhmm. Since Central is not awake, I’ll let you off with a final warning. Don’t do this again. Do you have any questions?”

Christiano was silent.

The Commander sighed. “Why is it so difficult to believe I would die for my men? Please, trust me. That’s all I need.”

“That’s far too much,” Christiano said. The door squeaked open.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins the "everything gets worse for the Commander" arc.


	14. And Hell's Coming With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War makes strange bedfellows of us all.
> 
> (And EXALT makes a return.)

“Menace 1-6 to Central, all X-Rays currently burning in hell,” Urist reported. Her helmet cam panned over the burning ADVENT outpost. “We should put that out before it reaches the Haven.”

“ _We didn’t start the fire_ ,” Adler sang as he dragged a Muton corpse away from a burning barrel, “ _it was always burning_ , _since the –_ “

Bradford cleared his throat. “Join the opera after we win the war, Harp Seal.”

“This still on?” Adler coughed. _“_ Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

“I’ll hold you to it, son.” Bradford checked the cams and sensors. The Menace team and their captive glowed like miniature suns amongst the cool blues of the surrounding valley… at least, they would have, if the watch tower’s burning remains didn’t dwarf them. “Menace 1-6, the AO is clear. Bundle up the bodies, douse the flames and return to base.”

“Central, 1-6, I recognize the VIP,” Teuku said. His camera focused on Stanford Johnson-Pérez, a bulky man who looked more like a shaved bear than a human. “He was my father’s friend: EXALT, and not former like me.”

“Wait!” Johnson-Pérez thrashed against his restraints. “Mark, I can help you! Don’t kill me! I know more than you think!”

Teuku inched away from the VIP. “…He’s all yours, sir.”

Bradford looked away from the Hologlobe, to the Commander. She looked ready to waterboard the VIP.

“Recognize him?” the Central Officer asked.

“Perhaps. I hope I’m wrong.”

The Central Officer turned his head. He briefly caught sight of Old Shen’s fuzzy form leaning against the Hologlobe banister.

 _'Make sure the Commander remembers what separates XCOM from EXALT,'_ Shen said in that calm, collected tone Bradford dearly missed.

Bradford rubbed his eyes, pushing away the apparition. The Central Officer was running low on sleep if he was seeing dead men.

“Commander, we need all the allies we can get,” he said. “Even if… well, they come from… unsavory sources. If he’s lying, we can still interrogate him.”

“…1-6 to Teuku. Take out Johnson’s tracker so we can have a little chat with him. We’ll see you at home. 1-6 out.” The Commander turned off her mike and laughed. “Of all the people to survive… None of my people – none of my network, nobody from the old days is responding to my calls for aid… And yet, Johnson-Pérez lives. After all he's done - human smuggling, drug – I… Justice is a blind **bitch**.”

“I need more coffee.” Bradford rubbed his eyes. “I thought I just heard you swear.”

The Commander’s gaze traveled over his body. “Central, I think you need sleep, not coffee.”

The shadows were moving in the corners of his vision, taking the shapes of those he failed to save: Old Shen leaning against the Hologlobe bannister, a rookie he had led in XCOM’s third incarnation into a Thin Man’s overwatch, Ramirez, Osei… The Central Officer shook his head, and the fuzzy forms disappeared.

“Huh. Look who’s talking.” Bradford tried to shrug off the unease. The grey fabric of his uniform stuck to his back, uncomfortably sweaty and wrinkled.

The Commander pointed to the Living Quarters staircase. “See you in six hours.”

“You’ve been up just as long as I have,” he protested. “Somebody needs to interrogate the VIP and relay messages from the Informant… when he finally calls.”

 _'While I’d normally advise listening to the Commander,_ Old Shen said, _not this time. Her life is in danger_. Stay awake. _Trust me, old friend.'_

The Central Officer looked to the side. Of course, no one was there. Why would there be? Old Shen was dead.

 _'Don’t think about it, Bradford.'_ Old Shen sounded on the verge of tears. _'I’m trying to help you.'_

 “I’m assuming you’re communing with the Grim Reaper.” The Commander pushed him towards the stairs. "Bed, before you drop dead."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was all too aware of the Hologlobe techs’ eyes on his back.

 _'You’re getting complacent, Central.'_ He could almost see the wizened engineer shaking his head, his shadow following in their wake. ' _You fail to see your men as they are._ _Your men are discontent. They don’t trust the Commander. They want you in her place.'_

“Sir, my place is with you.” Bradford made a mental note to ask Kelly. The Ranger had her finger on XCOM’s pulse. “You never know when ADVENT might come calling.”

“That’s even more reason for you to sleep.” They came to a stop outside the Commander’s Quarters. The Commander rested her hands on his shoulders. “Bradford, do you trust me?”

“O-of course, Commander.”

“If anything happens, I’ll wake you. We’ll trade off in six.” Her hands dropped off his shoulders. “Good night, Central.”

The shadows were coalescing around him. It was hard to breathe. Bradford went straight for the trunk beneath his cot. Fumbling fingers brought out a bottle of rotgut from its hiding place. He drank deeply, then collapsed onto his pillow.

 

* * *

 

Manhattan, Kansas, XCOM Alpha Site: Situation Room

25 March 2015, 21:00

“Central. Chief Hazurov.” The Commander didn’t bother turning around when he entered. She pointed at the five flashing red bars underneath India on the Doom Tracker. India was at Panic level 5: at this point, it would take only a Muton poking its ugly nose into Mumbai for the entire country to leave. “When did this happen? We stopped the abductions. We got the engineers. Any word from Shen?"

“This doesn’t appear to be a malfunction, sir,” Bradford said. He swiped through the latest news on his tablet. “The Indian PM is sending us… ah, strongly worded messages. I’ll have a report in ten minutes.”

“Thanks you, Central.” The Commander looked behind him. “Miska, what's the situation?”

Bradford refrained from shaking his head. The Commander and the Chief of Base Security were far too chummy, nothing like the professionalism she shared with the doctors or himself. It made the men talk.

“Checking if you covered your tracks.” Hazurov's pen clicked out a frenetic beat. “You were on a mission before you came to XCOM. Where was it?”

“Classified,” she said, a hint of warning in her voice.

“You had to cut your hair to pass as a man again. Don’t want someone tracking you to here, _mila_.” Hazurov gestured at the Doom Tracker. “Not many Chinese men around Pakistan. India? Wouldn’t be too strange to see a Chinese man there. Korea – oh, North Korea is a big one, but they’re not a backer–”

“Security Chief Hazurov, the panic in India just skyrocketed.” Bradford crossed his arms. “Do you have anything useful to say?”

Hazurov blew out a breath.

“There’s Illuminati in India, and they might be after us.”

Bradford wanted to laugh, but the Commander and Hazurov looked equally serious. Great. XCOM had a bunch of conspiracy theorists at its head. This was worse than the Snakemen and reports of some nutjob called Straker ranting about Shadow Operatives.

“How do you know?” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Why didn’t I know earlier? How long have they been there?”

“Tip-off from a friend this morning.” Hazurov waved a hand. “Sent me a message before they got him. There’s data on the way. I’ll forward them to Central.”

“The… Illuminati.” Bradford swished the word around. The more he thought about it, the more stupid it felt. “Are you sure your contact’s…” _high, off his rocker, not wasting your time, can’t say that,_ “trustworthy? And there we go, message from the Council. I'll put it onscreen.”  
 

The Spokesman appeared, silhouetted by the spotlight behind him.

“Commander – our intelligence sources indicate that a previously unknown organization is attempting to undermine XCOM field operations. We believe this group harbors some… misguided sympathies for the invaders, and is intent on acquiring alien technology and artifacts critical to your efforts. Early reports indicate this organization calls itself EXALT.”

The Commander and Security Chief traded sour looks. Bradford flipped through the data the Spokesman had added to his never-ending list of things to summarize.

“We trust you will isolate the source of this new threat – and eliminate it. We will be watching, Commander.”

The screen flickered off.

“Commander,” Bradford said, setting his hands on his hips. “The Council has provided some additional resources to help us deal with these traitors. We can begin scanning for additional EXALT cell locations and launch covert operations,” he gestured at the map of the world, “to disrupt their activity via the Situation Room.”

She rubbed her side, as if it pained her. “They just _had_ to go after one of our biggest backers.”

“At least they weren’t in Saudi Arabia.” Hazurov shook his head at the noise of disgust she made. “They make it convenient for us, _mila_ , be thankful for that.”

“EXALT. So that’s their name.” The Commander leaned back in her chair. “The stuff of Illuminati mythos. Why did I think they’d stay quiet?”

“You’ve… dealt with them before?” Bradford asked.

“Bunch of nutjobs.” Hazurov crossed his arms. “Yeah, we've crossed paths in our line of work. Work 9 to 5 during the day, but when the call goes out, they grab their guns and go on a power trip. He could be your next-door neighbor, he could be your boss, and you’d never know.”

“The garbled cackling over the radio tends to give them away,” the Commander said. “They’re rather conspicuous when they think they’re alone.”

Bradford resisted the urge to massage his temples. Ancient conspiracies and intergalactic warfare. Out of all the things the USMC had taught him, tinfoil-hat conspiracy theories were not one of them.

“Might I ask how you know this?”

“Classified,” the Commander said, “and it’s best if it stays that way. Hazurov, please wipe my traces. I don’t want them tracking XCOM down.”

“But country-wide panic?” Bradford shook his head as he scrolled through the translated headlines. “In less than a day, the Indian panic shot up to five. How could they do this? An entire country – one of our biggest allies…”

Hazurov laughed sourly. “Do you know how far the rabbit hole goes? They’ve got a writer in every magazine, a hand in every transaction that runs through Wall Street, every sex slave ring in Bulgaria has a– You get the point. You name it, they’ve got money and men there.”

The Commander nodded. “Central, please start a scan for the cell. I'll start forming a squad  for the assault. Chief Hazurov, start up our Counter-Intelligence.”

Bradford’s tablet beeped. “Your man came through, Chief Hazurov. Sir, I’ve got a name. One Stanford Johnson-Pérez’s the ringleader of this circus.”

 

* * *

 

“-I said I would wake you up if I had to,” the Commander said. “Sorry, Central.”

Bradford’s eyes snapped open. His eyes went to the clock: he had slept for nine hours. The Commander was standing in the doorway, a shiny bruise blooming over her left eye and a knife sticking out of her shoulder.

He kicked off the covers and crossed his bedroom in two strides. He touched her shoulder. Blood dripped down the knife, darkening the Commander’s uniform. “This is why I can’t leave you alone! Why was Johnson-Pérez even close to a knife in the first place?”

He dimly remembered Shen’s warnings, but pushed them away as he searched his dresser for a medkit.

“Just need another dose of medkit.” She pulled out the knife despite his protests. “See?” Her left hand opened up the cut in her shirt, revealing an already healing wound. The skin around it was pitted with long slash scars and shiny patches – bullet wounds? “Almost good as new. I’m sorry to wake you, but I need help interrogating the VIP. Very uncooperative, that one.”

“And nobody was with you?” Bradford got the kit and sprayed the wound. “Sir, you can’t take these risks! And change your uniform, you’re getting blood everywhere.”

She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Central. I overestimated my abilities.”

“I’ll be having a chat with the men later.” The terminal in the corner buzzed. “Ah, hell, not now – priority message from the Resistance, Commander.”

“Onscreen.”

Just like in the old base, the four locks appeared onscreen. As the Avenger’s systems accepted the verified signature, the locks opened one-by-one. The XCOM screensaver dissolved into the orange and blues of the Informant’s signature room. The man himself was still silhouetted, rendered faceless by the colored spotlights behind him.

“It’s been a long time,” Bradford said. “ADVENT crack down?”

The Informant bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Hello Central. Commander, the council you once knew is no more. Its membership have all sworn loyalty to the ADVENT Administration. Those who once supported you now toe ADVENT’s line.”

Bradford thought he heard a pained whine escape the Commander.

“Except for one. It is good to see you, _xiao dao_.” It was hard to tell, but Bradford thought the Informant was smiling. “I have done all I can to aid the resistance from the inside, but their forces were somewhat… disorganized. I am glad that in the days since your extraction, you have begun to reunite the Resistance.”

She mustered a smile. “I take it you have a mission for us.”

The Informant’s image disappeared, replaced by lines of scrolling blue text.

“What you are seeing are classified reports of civilians from across the world. Their numbers are growing. We suspect they have been taken to a nearby ADVENT black site, though its exact location still remains unknown. It seems to harbor information relevant to the Theoi Project. Time is short, Commander. It has been over three weeks since we informed the resistance of this cell. Find it, and shut it down. The clock is ticking.”

 _Why didn’t I know about this?_ Bradford wondered. _The abductions never stopped, that I knew. But now we know their main hub, and we haven't attacked yet?_

The Informant’s image returned. “We have verified the coordinates Central sent. You will find the weapons you seek there. Move before ADVENT does.”

“Understood."

“Good luck, Commander,” the Informant said. The screen went black.

 

The Commander opened up a file on her terminal and began to shift through the coordinates. “Ruby and Blake are kept together, we’ll hit them next, and then we’ll get Weiss–“

“Sir, with all due respect…” Bradford said slowly. It was starting to make sense. The men were a gossipy bunch. They would never let this pass, not when they lost family to those damnable Gene Therapy clinics… “You knew about the Blacksite?”

“Of course I did. You marked it on the Hologlobe as a VIP target.”

“And… you didn’t send anyone to assault it?” The Central Officer shook his head. _They hired you to defend Earth._ “While our people are dying?”

She blew out a breath. “I know it sounds terrible, putting RWBY before my own species. Please hear me out.”

Bradford crossed his arms and waited.

“The aliens have this world under control. They have their pick of humans to abduct. Keeping live prisoners is costly: think of all the facilities we hit, trying to find Yang. Everyone else was dead. I suspect ADVENT is running out of resources: you see it in the Mutons’ armor, the distribution of plasma rifles only among high ranking aliens…” She pinched together the gap in her shoulder. “Central, we will find no living civilians–"

_Your first priority should have been to raze that facility to the ground._

“You don’t know that.”

The Commander shook her head. “My past experience tells me otherwise. Unless ADVENT is somehow developing a weapon based on human misery, the Blacksite will only have the dead.”

 _Come on, John, be reasonable_ , he told himself. _Just get answers, and let it go. It was a lack of trust that killed us last time. Don’t let the past repeat. Forget about coming home to your family after XCOM fell–_

“There’s still people disappearing,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. He could still smell the reek of bodies burned to the bone. He failed miserably. “Burn that place to the ground. We could save them."

“And we will, Central.” The Commander pressed her knuckles into her chest. “If we attack the Blacksite, ADVENT will step up their efforts. We left a dummy behind in Yang’s case, but that won’t satisfy ADVENT at the Blacksite. I want our men to have the best weapons, to not repeat the old war’s mistakes–“

He shook his head. “Thousands are going missing, Commander–“

“I know,” she continued in that terrible, collected voice. “You’ve lost many. You want ADVENT’s blood. I can understand that. Everyone I protected or needed before the invasion is probably at that Blacksite. We will get justice, you just need to trus–”

“Damn it, Commander!” Bradford’s nails bit into the leather of his knife’s holster. “You keep telling me to trust you. But you’re keeping secrets – this Resistance runs off of being honest, no wonder the men don’t trust you–” he stopped, a frenzy of panic and anger boiling in his chest. “The knife. Who stabbed you?”

 _She deserved it,_ a treacherous voice whispered in his ear.

He tried to push the thought away. _Good soldiers trust their commanders._

“Not a professional. I’ve had better sent after me.” The Commander retrieved a jacket from her cot and shrugged it on. “The situation was resolved peacefully.”

“I’m not an idiot, sir.”

 _‘We gotta look after our own,_ ’ he remembered Kelly saying, after storming out of her psych eval, ‘ _and nGall wants to babysit fucking ayys? Next thing you know, nGall’ll sell us out to ADVENT – we gotta do something…_ ’

“Kelly.” Bradford sank into the sofa. “Damn it, I’ve been blind. Haven’t been – I need a drink–“

She went over to a cupboard, got out a bottle of rotgut, and handed it to him.

He downed it in two gulps.

XCOM was falling apart all over again. Now they didn’t even have EXALT or the Council to blame. The poison lay in their core.

“I have a plan, Bradford. Please.” The Commander stood before him, face gaunt, dark shadows beneath her sunken eyes, looking more dead than alive. “I will get us through the war. I will get the men to follow me. I just need your trust. That’s all that I ask.”

_Good soldiers follow orders. Don’t you remember the old days? XCOM hasn’t lost a single soldier since the Commander came back._

 He could hear the whisper of the angry dead in the periphery of his mind – he could almost see a glimpse of a tattered XCOM sweater black with blood, and the orange tip of a Chryssalid's talon running it through.

 _Are you willing to send men to their deaths again?_ he asked himself.

There was a long silence.

“Johnson-Pérez is still in the holding cell?” 

“He is.”

“I’ll go have a chat.” Bradford rubbed his temples, fighting off the migraine threatening to spill into his head. “Just… who are you, sir?”

“I’m the XCOM Commander. Isn’t that enough?” she replied.

He pointed at her injured shoulder. “Soon, it won’t be.”

The Commander sighed. “Look, Bradford. I… when I know the whereabouts of my network, I’ll talk. By keeping things classified, if I’m taken prisoner… I can still protect them. Let’s just say I’ve had a hard life.” She gestured at the terminal. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk with Shen about setting up a Resistance Relay.”

“Might as well be a politician,” he grumbled as he left the quarters. Her placid smile was starting to freak him out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enemy Within Achievement: Successfully assault an Overseer UFO
> 
> nGall refers to "Diarmait na nGall", or "Diarmait of the Foreigners." Some Irish consider him a traitor for his actions. 
> 
> Almost done with the Commander Arc. One more chapter, and we go rescue the rest of RWBY!


	15. A Horrible Truth

The screen flickered. Bradford caught bits of static, flashes of data sent through the aliens’ psionic network, and hints of barren mountains. He hoped Tygan and Shen’s encryption would be enough. If the aliens discovered the Avenger piggybacking off of their network, ADVENT would know everything about the resistance. But the massive amounts of traffic already traveling through the network would probably mask the Resistance’s information. Hopefully. 

“Firebrand en route,” Green - the coms technician on duty - said. “ETA 5 minutes.”

The image cleared. A woman in a black vest and a tight ponytail stood before the camera. Behind her sat a squat brick building, ivy overtaking its walls. It looked like a former school. Dark blue shipping containers were stacked against the wall like Legos. Barrels of oranges were scattered over the lichen-covered cement. With any luck, XCOM’s gift would cure the scurvy epidemic in this resistance cell.

“Welcome to the fight,” Bradford said.

Sanda Ru – their liaison to this Romanian cell - nodded. She was a woman of few words, and fewer were English. During its early years, ADVENT had shuffled most of Earth’s population around the globe. It disrupted the racial and country tensions that had arisen. Bradford guessed Sanda was a product of this shuffling. Although Sanda spoke fluently to liaison, Bradford doubted they would be discussing the ethics of taking aliens prisoners anytime soon.

“Miruna there?” Sanda asked.

“Miruna?” Bradford shook his head as he remembered. That was this cell's codename for the Commander. “She’ll return shortly."

In reality, the Commander was sleeping for the first time in sixty hours, and he wasn’t about to go disturb her. She had spent the last few days soothing fears, readying Yang for battle and tending to the wounded, but the tenuous trust between the Commander and her crew was fragile.

“No matter.” Sanda tapped her screen. “You tell her we are proud to fight. She helped me before. We help her now.”

“I’ll be sure to relay the message.” _Why the hell does everyone know you, Commander?_ “Has Dr. Tygan seen to your wounded?”

Sanda dipped her head. “We send medicinal herbs with your doctor. Extract active compounds, could help your wounded.”

Bradford mentally revised his opinion. Ah well. It wasn’t his job to quibble on ethics. That was Old Shen’s…

His tablet beeped. _FIREBRAND: Landing, package on board._

“Thank you,” he said. “If you need a hand, we’ll come as soon as we can.”

“Vigilo confido, Central. Thank you.” Sanda nodded, and the link dissolved.

 

The Commander had given orders to fly back to Resistance HQ once Tygan returned. They needed the extra hands to build the Power Relay and the Proving Grounds… Bradford would have commandeered the soldiers into helping, but the men were restless. Too much potential for accidents with powered machinery. He had suggested getting the soldiers – particularly Kelly – to train the newest cell of the Western Europe Resistance to defend themselves.

Bradford clicked his headset on. “This is Central. All hands, report in. We take off in ten.” He clicked the headset off. “Green, pull up the personnel list.”

Green tapped in his authorization. The names of all current XCOM personnel popped onscreen. One by one, the names glowed light blue, signifying their owner had typed in their personal verification code. The screen was a sea of light blue light… except for two names that remained stubbornly dark.

“I could go wake the Commander up, sir,” Green offered. “Last I saw, she was in the lounge. Kelly… I think she’s in the AWC.”

“Locate the Commander’s tracker,” Bradford said. “and bring up security cams.”

Green raised an eyebrow, but he did as he was told. “I’ve located 1-6 and Kelly in the AWC. And… someone checked out, but hasn’t returned a machete from the armory. Someone should secure it before we start flying.”

Alarms went DEFCON1 in Bradford’s head.

“Send out the secure alarm. Make sure everyone’s out of the lower areas of the ship,” he said, then left for the AWC.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he noticed about the AWC was the unusual quiet, only broken by the Commander’s quiet voice.

“-so I’m bleeding out, and the girls don’t want to get into the getaway cars. Bad memories. It’s how they ended up in the trade. Was singing to one of them to keep her calm while I buckled her up, when I hear barking. Then – let’s call her Sparrow – she was outside, she starts screaming, I go out and see there’s this massive hound ripping her face apart.”

The soldiers acknowledged Bradford’s approach with salutes.

“They really didn’t want the girls escaping,” Kelly said grimly. "If they left the slaves for dead, why were they pursuing?"

“That ring had a no survivors policy,” the Commander said. “Hazurov catches up, begins shooting the dogs. I pull out my knife, stab the dog mauling Sparrow – but it’s too late, she’s gone, there’s too many of them. Hazurov hops into the driver’s seat and we take off.”

“How many lived?” Yang asked.

“Fifty-six. Sparrow was our only loss.” The Commander blew out a breath. “You can’t take away their fears, but you can definitely support them, and when push comes to shove, they’ll do the right thing.” Her voice pitched down, to a tenor with the slightest hint of a Chinese accent. “ _Mark my words one day, karma’s gonna come collect your debt_ , and all that.”

“So how can you do that voice changing thing?” Kelly asked.

The Commander’s voice returned to normal. “A trick from my opera days. Good, when I needed to go undercover.”

“You… sang opera,” Devgan said slowly.

The Commander shrugged. “Lounge singing, technically, but opera sounds better.”

Evora blew out a breath. “Kinda hard to believe it, _sir_.” He spat out the last word. “It’s like one of those bad cop dramas. And this wasn’t on the news?”

“We didn’t like to publicize our hits. Made the ringleaders wary, harder to find.”

Kelly shook her head. The machete jangled on her back. “I think he means… you, sir?” She eyed the Commander’s wiry frame. “On an assault?”

“It was very rare for me to be on the ground,” she replied. Bradford caught sight of the deep scars lacerating her left arm. The Commander pulled her sleeve back down. “Only went if they needed a pep-talker. Usually, I was behind the scenes, greasing hands, creating cracks for escape, and then my team would swoop in and save the day. Hello, Central. Are we ready to fly?”

Bradford rubbed his forehead. “Kelly, go put your machete away,” he said. The Irishwoman saluted and scrambled away. “Commander, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Yang opened her mouth, but the Commander beat her to it. “Just clearing some misconceptions.” His Commander straightened. “Are we ready to fly?”

“If everyone has evacuated the lower levels, and Kelly has returned her machete.” An alarm rang. “Sounds like they’re done. Will you return to the bridge, sir?”

She rose. “Of course. We’ll talk later, Yang.”

“We should sing less depressing songs next time,” Yang said. “Like _It’s My Turn!_ Or my favorite, _I Burn!_ ”

“We could record it for propaganda,” Kundi said. “Our counterpart to the ayy’s ADVENTgers.”

The Commander smiled. “Maybe later. Soldiers, I will see you at dinner.”

“Kelly doesn’t look as murderous as before,” Bradford said as they walked to the Hologlobe. “You had a talk with her?”

His Commander slumped and rubbed her side. “Took a page out of your book and told her the truth, or what I could safely tell. We have a temporary truce.”

“And the conditions?”

“Let’s just say… I hope ADVENT doesn’t throw any more curveballs." She sighed. “Don’t worry, Central. I will always do what’s best for XCOM.”

 

* * *

 

After Rengel’s crew came aboard to build the Proving Grounds, Tygan summoned the Command staff to the labs.

Dr. Tygan was touching up an X-Ray of the Commander’s head from when she was still in the suit. He kept mumbling to himself… it sounded suspiciously like he was reciting a presentation. The ADVENT Captain lay on the dissection table, its face towards the doctor. An orange scar on the back of its head revealed the position of the chip. Cables fed into its neck and skull. The body was hunched up, frozen in rigor mortis. It seemed much more human when Bradford couldn’t see its face.

“I take it this was easier than your last procedure, Doctor?” Bradford asked.

Tygan turned. His arms locked behind his back. “Central. Commander.” He nodded respectfully to them. “Yes, I find the process to be far less disconcerting when the subject has already expired. However…”

“It’s never good news, is it?” the Commander said with a wry grin. With the deep shadows beneath her eyes, she looked more ghostly than flesh.

“It’s… best you see for yourself.” Tygan tapped the screen, which displayed two chips: the Commander’s, and one Bradford assumed had been extracted from the Captain. Numbers played underneath the Captain’s. Bradford could barely see numbers beneath the jittering blocks of lost data under the Commander’s chip. “My autopsy has confirmed the presence of a unit, similar in design to the one I extracted from the Commander. But there are differences.”

The Central Officer crossed his arms. “What kind of differences?”

Something beeped merrily as Tygan touched the screen once again. “The data you see is being pulled directly from this ADVENT Captain’s implant.” He gestured below the E-shaped chip. “The sequence here is essentially you, Commander. I have found bits of Xiao Long as well, but it is prominently the Commander’s. Or at least, the tactical information they were processing through your mind. As you can see, the data is nearly identical.”

 _Nearly identical. Tactical information._ _Why would ADVENT skullmine the–_

Bradford’s arms dropped. He looked over the Commander carefully.

 _'I’d put a pod there,'_ she’d say after another successful ambush. ' _Just Commander’s intuition.'_

“They were using you against us.”

Bradford took a half step closer. His eyes locked with the Commander’s.

“ _Ty che, blyad_?” Her eyes widened. "They weren't just war games…"

 _All this time_ , he thought. _All ADVENT’s strategies. God – the Commander knows everyone. No wonder Earth’s governments folded. They could pick – they knew who to find, just from her brain_.

“The ADVENT data shows signs of decay,” Tygan said. Bradford turned to look at the doctor. “Removing the Commander from the network has likely caused significant damage.”

Bradford reluctantly stepped closer to the table to get a better look at the screen. He cocked his head. It was indecipherable to him.

“Network?”

“Yes. What we are seeing here is a psionic network.” Tygan kept gesturing to the same damnable pieces of data on screen. “These implants are capable of receiving and transmitting information – a _great_ deal of information, encoded in a psionic stream of energy. Quite similar to our Resistance Network relays.”

Tygan touched the screen again. It changed, to the ADVENT Administration symbol in the upper left corner. The symbol broadcasted waves to a cutout of the Commander’s chip. The chip was linked to an ADVENT Captain, which branched out into two more Captains, and even more troopers.

“My working theory – ADVENT uses this network to augment the tactical readiness of its troops as well as disseminate orders from its Central Command. A bit like you, Central Officer Bradford.”

In the corner of his eyes, he watched the Commander flinch as though she had been struck.

 

“Observe,” Tygan said. He touched one of the troopers on the branches.

With a whirring sound, the ADVENT Captain began to jerk. Bradford took a step back, almost drawing his knife. Beside him, metal unsheathed, then stopped. The Commander let go of the knife on her hip.

The ADVENT Captain continued to spasm on the table, long after Tygan had lifted his finger from the screen. “Even in the subject’s diminished conditions, the implant continues to have an effect. A truly astonishing achievement.”

Bradford parsed the information. _Network._ _All networks can be broken. All links can be shattered_. _That was my job, back in Pakistan…_

“Or a weakness,” Bradford said.

“Potentially. But I’d need direct access to their network to know for sure.”

The Central Officer restrained a sigh. “I’m guessing that won’t be easy.”

Tygan confirmed his guess. “We’d need an active link. And that would mean hacking a live ADVENT Captain.”

Bradford restrained a bitter smile and shook his head. _CLOSE RANGE?!_ indeed. He owed Vahlen a few apologies in the afterlife. “And the Commander?”

Tygan shook his head. “The Commander’s link is long since dead. We only managed to contact Yang with some very dangerous surgery. We know the locations of all three Seasons captives thanks to the Informant and that surgery. But to know more about the Theoi Project, we need a live Captain.”

“Like I said, not easy.” The Central Officer put his hands on his hips and faced the Commander. “Still, it’s the best lead we’ve got. Your call, Commander.”

The Commander kept staring at the screen.

“Commander?” Bradford waved his hand before her face. “Anyone there?”

“I know why your previous XCOMs failed.” The Commander gestured to Tygan. “Would you – just a minute or so, I want to talk to Central.”

Tygan bowed his head, and walked away to the lab's isolation chambers.

 

“So they were using you,” Bradford said once they were alone, “and your knowledge–“

“No. You were fighting _me_. ADVENT didn’t just put me in a training sim. I led the ADVENT forces to assault – I – I thought they were EXALT bases, I – _cao,_ ” The Commander ran her hands through her hair. “I – I’m the reason my network’s gone.”

The Central Officer let that sink in. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“I killed Hazurov.” She covered her face. “They made me think he joined up with EXALT – he’s dead, they lied to me, I believed them–“

“Commander. Get a hold of yourself.” He set his hands on her shoulders and spoke with confidence he did not feel. “ADVENT’s done nothing but lie. Maybe they’ve saddled you with all this guilt, in case you ever broke out.”

“I appreciate the thought, Bradford.” Her hands dropped. “I… no, it’s my fault. It’s all coming back now.”

He could smell burning flesh once again.

“You called it Operation Bloody Rest.” The Commander took a shuddering breath. “I wondered how we got so many soldiers. You – or the projection that they let me keep in my mind – said the Council nations were getting desperate. They were willing to pitch in to keep humanity alive. They all flew to North Carolina.”

Bradford could barely breathe.

“They were under attack. We… we had to help. The good old USA. It was my home. It was yours.” She shook her head. “Fort Bragg.”

“The Last Stand at Fort Bragg…”

“It was a massacre,” they said in unison.

“You said we needed to keep the fort, if we wanted the States’ support. I sent everything I had. The Interceptors. MEC troopers. I pulled out our gene-modded troopers out of the tanks and sent them in. The – we had just finished production, Shen was so proud we had mastered the aliens’ secrets – I sent in the _Firestorm._ ”

He could almost see the alien ships soaring overhead.

“It rained plasma like God had grown tired of us,” he said.

“There were so many dead. Big Sky kept coming to base to ferry more soldiers out.” The Commander’s head tipped back against the wall. “It was Code Black after Code Black. I wondered why you were so cold. It was as if the men’s deaths didn’t matter to you.”

The air stunk of stale sweat and fear. Or was that just a memory of days gone by?

“They barricaded themselves inside Fort Bragg. The Americans’ last stand,” he said hollowly. “National Guardsmen, Air Force, Navy, Marines… they even took in nut-jobs who just about worshipped their guns. Almost everyone who hadn’t given up on humanity was there. Everyone who picked up a gun and manned the Fort was willing to die for their freedom.”

“We were so close to winning,” she whispered. “I…it was… we needed one last push. I thought we could strike fear into their hearts. It… it seemed a good idea… we had already lost so many, I wanted justice for our men!”

He could almost see Casey, Keegan, Ash and Downs, all resting against the far wall. He had learned to fire a gun by their sides, back when he was eighteen and stupid. God, they had been so young back then.

“They fled over the bodies of their brothers and sisters.” He could almost hear the screams of the dying, the _whompf_ of plasma cannons firing, and the last military base in America burning. “The Chryssalids kept chasing them. They were four thousand when they started. Only fifty survived.”

“Central… why do you know this?” She gasped a little. “Please don’t… no, I…”

Bradford looked away. “Nearly died there.”

A heavy silence lay over the science labs.

 

“You thought you were helping the Earth,” he said.

“I’m so sorry.”

“They were using you against us.”

“I’m sorry.” The Commander shook her head. “I – I need a moment – talk to Yang, Kelly – someone must have survived, someone–“

He led her over to the lab doors, and tapped in his code.

The lab doors slid open.

Kelly and Odinson stared back at them.

Bradford restrained a groan. “How much did you hear?” he asked.

They kept staring at him.

 

* * *

 

While he did damage control, the crew interrogated the Commander. Shen was standing by, ostensibly as a bodyguard, but all bets were off the table. The revelations had rocked XCOM more than a bomb exploding on board would have done. Bradford had calmed the last rebellious rookies – god, Kelly had more influence than he thought – and promptly went to the quarters for a drink. He couldn’t stand the bar, and all those pictures of the men he had lost – and the Commander indirectly killed – staring back at him.

“ _She isn’t even crying_ ,” he heard Urist mutter to Braun on his way, “ _it’s like she doesn’t care about all those people she killed._ ”

The Swiss skies outside the Avenger were draped in darkness when he tapped his code into the quarters.

“– _There are people depending on you – on us. If there’s anybody worth fighting for, it’s them,_ ” old Shen’s measured voice said. “ _Take care of them, Commander. I’ll see you on the other side. I believe we still have a game of chess to finish._ ”

The recording clicked off.

“ _–I was wondering when you'd be stopping by_ ,” repeated the recording of the dead engineer.

His Commander was sitting on one of the sofas, the tablet holding Old Shen’s recordings limp in her fingers. A bottle of rotgut sat on the table before her.

“You should get some sleep, Commander,” Bradford said.

She startled, almost dropping the tablet. The recording stopped.

“The drink’s for you.” She stared at the screen in her hands. “I’m so sorry, John. I know you had many hopes for me. I never wanted to put this on your shoulders.”

He froze. When had the Commander ever used his first name? It had been a long time since anyone called him John.

“I remember every single battle.” Her eyes had glazed over. “The Battle for Munich, the Battle of Three Gorges, the Battle for Osoyoos… I remember sending out XCOM soldiers to destroy alien bases. I remember asking Vahlen to research that, or Shen to build this, or you to contact the Council. The Barricade of Freetown? I… I sent in soldiers to crush the aliens there. And now… now I know that I made the _aliens_ win. I’m responsible for the world we live in.” She buried her head in her hands. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Warning bells started in his head.

“Don’t you dare, Commander.” He inched over. She wore a knife on her belt, and a handgun in the holster at her shoulder. The old wound in his shoulder would slow him, but he was in good shape and in a good position to grapple if it came to that. “I went through hell to get you out–“

“You don’t have to worry.” Her fingers caressed the knife’s sheath. “Not until ADVENT falls. But this cannot last. Have a drink, please.”

Bradford uncapped the bottle, and drained it. It stung his throat, but cleared his mind.

“So the entirety of XCOM is refusing to work under you. What’s the plan?”

The Commander opened a program on the tablet. The Hologlobe popped up, various facilities glowing blood-red.

“First, we get back Ruby, Weiss, and Blake. Those girls are vital. They’re our only way of fighting the Inquisitors.”

He gestured for her to continue.

 

“ADVENT – well, I did – I recruited psionically sensitive people to my troops. I called them the Inquisitors. They were supposed to fight EXALT’s enemy psionics.” She cradled her head.

“So both sides of the conflict have _human_ psionic bullshit. Wonderful.” Bradford wistfully eyed his empty bottle. “What’s so special about these girls?”

“Yang’s power isn’t the same as the Inquisitors. That’s how I found her during my captivity.” The Commander shook her head. “I’ll get Tygan to research psionics as soon as we can. That’ll give us enough time to fortify the Resistance Cells. Next, we hit the ADVENT Blacksite. I want to delay that attack as long as possible – ADVENT doesn’t keep backups,” she said quickly. “Whatever they’re doing can’t be backed up.”

“You know this from your time in the suit?”

“Their version of Vahlen told me. We hit them at the last moment, and they lose twenty years of work. That will kick the proverbial hornet’s nest. After that…” She blew out a long breath. “Whatever comes, we will face it. And there’s so many creatures they’ve created. Sectopod Overlords, Chryssalid Hive Queens…”

“…You’ve made us into a videogame.”

“I thought I was _helping_ XCOM, John.” The Hologlobe in her hands dissipated into blue mist. “Spent all my life working with liars and thieves. And yet I was roped into the biggest lie yet.”

Bradford thought it over.

“Any questions?” she asked.

_I don’t like it. Too many people can and will die. But the Commander knows what she’s doing – why is she telling me this? Anyone could hear us if they checked the security cams._

“You’re not allowed to off yourself, just so we’re clear.”

The Commander had that strange, terribly calm smile once again.

“I’m sorry, Bradford. The men won’t follow my orders. Due to extenuating circumstances… I’m stepping down as the XCOM Field Commander.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XCOM 2 Achievement: Recover the [REDACTED] data.
> 
> “Ty che, blyad?”: Basically, WTF. The Commander only swears when nobody can understand her.
> 
> It all ties together, I promise. So ends the Commander Arc. Next up: Spooky scary sectopods, send STEEL HOLY FUCK IT JUST WALKED THROUGH THE WALLS.


	16. Mulu-lizi Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang scoffs at ADVENT interior decorating and aesthetic, and the gang gets back together.

“Calm down, Commander Bradford.” Mu Lan’s voice filtered over the speakers in the Skyranger passenger bay. “You know the enemy this time around. This won’t be another Operation Devil’s Moon–“

“Wish Tangent’d shut her bleedin’ cake hole.” Kelly fingered the flat of her machete. “We don’t need traitors ‘round here.”

Yang marveled that the Ranger had enough arm room to do so. The Skyranger was packed with soldiers and extra supplies. Yang was sandwiched between Devgan and Urist and their equipment. Every time a gust hit the craft, Ember Celica drove into Urist’s ribs. On the other bench sat Yoshida and Kelly. Adler and Odinson had to sit in the makeshift seats, crammed in between the trauma cart and stacks of ammo. Beside Yang, Devgan kept muttering to himself, “ _hack any available workstations, send info to Shen, keep WALL-E ready to heal…_ ”

“Zip it, No Dice,” Odinson said. He kept well away from the stack of X4 by the trauma cart. “Complain about the Commander after the mission.”

“Sorry for worrying about our men,” Central shot back on the radio. The earpiece clipped onto Yang’s ear hissed with feedback. “And don’t call me Commander!”

“Breathe in, sir. You’re in charge, you know what–” the transmission became garbled.

“We should’ve shot her in the clinic,” Adler muttered, “wasn’t worth losing Osei, Ramirez and Yamani for that.”

Kelly hummed in agreement.

Yang wanted to say, _and leave me stuck with ADVENT forever?,_ but the transmission returned.

“-standing by, awaiting your orders,” Mu Lan said.

The Central Officer cleared his throat. At the front of the Skyranger, the blueprints of an ADVENT facility flickered on-screen.

“Menace 1-5, we have reports of two captives being kept at this facility. Like Yang, they are of particular interest to the resistance. You have their sketches for physical reference. They might not be conscious. Carry them out if you need to. Odinson, you’re in the lead. You’ve got four floors to cover: two aboveground, and two under. Search the facility top to bottom, get Ruby and Blake out, and blow the place to hell. Central out.”

“I don’t know, Kelly. I still want to trust Tangent,” Yoshida said before Kelly could speak once more. “Obaa-san spoke highly of her.”

“And what would you know, Akira?” Adler asked.

“Hey, maybe we could play nice?” Yang spread her hands. “I just wanna get my sister and friends out.”

“Shut it, muppet,” Kelly replied. "Go on, Akira, I wanna hear you protect a traitor."

“My mom died in the first contact.” Yoshida shrugged, dislodging the GREMLIN from its perch on her lap. “I barely remember her. My grandmother used to tell–“

“You sure your grandma wasn’t losing it?” Adler asked. He shook his head and checked the rifle in his lap for the tenth time. “It doesn’t matter. Central’s leading us. He’s never let us down, from the day we dug out the Avenger to this day.”

Silence sat over the Skyranger. Odinson stared down each teammate in turn, warning them to behave. Yang jittered in her seat. Her gauntlets clanged against the grenade launcher sitting on her thighs. The hostility would have had Grimm swarming their craft in no time back on Remnant.

“Squad green to deploy!” Firebrand announced.

 

The doors opened, letting in dusky light that drowned out the red-lit passenger bay. Kelly and Devgan got up and grabbed the ropes swinging in the backwash of the Skyranger’s engines. The duo clipped themselves on – leapt – the ropes hissed – and far below the craft, Yang heard the squish of boots on wet ground.

It was her turn.

“Ever flew before?” Odinson asked as he clipped himself to the rope.

“With these babies? Sure have,” Yang said as she did the same. The sun’s last light played over her golden gauntlets.

Odinson whistled. “You kids got the best toys.” He checked her clip. “All right. Ladies first!” he said, then pushed her out the door.

The ground rushed towards her, but Yang prepared for the impact and managed to not swear back at him. Her boots – not XCOM issue, but the only remnant of her Huntress uniform she had been permitted to wear – sank into the bog.

“Sure starting my first mission with a Yang.” The golden brawler hoisted her grenade launcher over her shoulder and grabbed hold of a nearby branch. As the rest of the team descended, she slowly extricated her boots from the mud. “Can’t get too bogged down.”

“Some rescue team we are,” Odinson grumbled, sticking his machete into a nearby stump to haul himself out. “Brick to Firebrand. Move over half a meter. This ground is too soft.”

Overhead, the Skyranger tilted left. The remaining team landed on solid ground.

“Zero here,” Devgan said as he waded to a shelf of slate grey rock, “you had to drop us in the only glue trap for miles, didn’t you?”

“Kept you from breaking your damn legs, son. Stop whining and move,” Central said.

Once free of the mud, Yang took a good look around. XCOM had deployed in the wilds of some place called Siberia. It was a desolate place, whipped by the elements, and carved into isolation by the massive glowing alien fences.

The ADVENT facility holding her friends prisoner was seventy-five meters away. It sat like a massive black behemoth like a cancerous growth on the slate grey rock, sharp angles and glowing red lights a harsh contrast to the wind-swept rock and bent pines that surrounded it. No lichen dared touch the artificial growth; no breeze dared sweep over the turrets lining the roof.

“Menace team,” Mu Lan said in the headset perched on Yang’s left ear, “a patrol should be heading your way from the south east, circling the facility. I'd put at least a Captain and two troopers there.”

Brick touched his ear. “Solid copy, Tangent. Central, no eyes on the patrol, but we’ve got six turrets on the roof.”

Central didn’t seem as confident as Mu Lan – his voice occasionally shook as he directed them towards the facility. They were going for a stealthy approach – weaving through the trees, planting bugs just out of the turrets’ line of sight, dodging the many patrols around the squat black monstrosity. Just as they were about the break the tree line, Central split them up into two groups. Yang, Devgan and Braun circled behind the facility; the rest went to assault from the west side. The others were the distraction at the front of the facility.

“C’mon, move,” Devgan hissed as he sent WALL-E over to jam the sensors. “Don’t have all day!”

The group ran past the fences made of red light and got into what seemed to be a loading bay. It was filled with solid black metal crates. Yang took cover behind one. The crate jittered behind her, as if a tiny Grimm resided in its depth. But there wasn’t the foulness that followed the creatures of Darkness.

“Central, there’s something in these crates,” Yang said, holding her hand just above the box. The air hummed with unseen power. “It’s… it feels very familiar.”

“Nothing’s showing up on the sensors, Central,” Lily said.

“Noted. Xiao Long, leave those boxes alone. We don’t have the resources to deal with them. Go on overwatch. Devgan, get that door open.”

 

The air stood still as the XCOM team infiltrated. It was a deathly silence, only appropriate for the room they had entered. Tanks of greenish goo that glowed piss-green, all holding intact bodies, lined every wall. Some had long cat tails trailing from their unclothed hips – others had fire burning ceaselessly in nerveless hand.

Yang shuddered as she walked to one of the tanks. The Faunus held within stared back at the golden brawler, lips frozen in a scream, ginger locks ragged and dull in her prison’s light. Beside the holding tank, twin glowsticks glowed a sickly green.

“Neon Katt… I fought her in the tournament. Is she…?” Yang touched the glass. Neon’s eyes stayed frozen on some point beyond Yang’s head, as if there was a ghost ready to seize the blonde brawler. Yang turned: there was only Odinson and Devgan, looking at each occupant in turn.

“There’s no signal from Ruby or Blake,” Devgan eventually reported. “Marking this room down and crossing it off.”

“No life signs from anyone in the tanks,” Central said. “Devgan, document. Odinson, grab the weapons. Yang, look for an exit to the next room.”

Devgan’s GREMLIN whirred as it photographed each victim and jammed the security systems. Odinson walked after Devgan, prying weapons from their glowing green fields as he went.

"Sure strange the ayys are keeping weapons right next to their owners," Devgan said. "With you, Yang, we had to dig them out of this testing chamber."

"Maybe it's their way of storage. Keeps everything nicely together," Odinson suggested, as he took a pair of red-painted claws from their place. "Comman– Tangent says the ayys are strapped for cash."

"What, they couldn't hire a secretary?" Devgan shook his head. "My folks complained about bureaucracy way back when, but any good evil empire should have bureaucracy."

"Probably abducted the secretary and melted her down into goo," Odinson said. "You almost done with the records?"

“Why the photos?” Yang tapped on a wall. Nope. Solid. She moved down a few meters.

“If we find living relatives,” Mu Lan said on the com, “we’d like to give them answers.”

“Have you found anyone…?”

“Not yet.”

Hot tears pricked Yang’s eyes. _Don’t let me be the only one left alive_ , she prayed as she kept looking. The windowless room was as cool as the dusky forest outside, but the air was stagnant and lifeless. _I just need stairs – door – something – let me find my family._

Yang tapped on another section of wall. It slid open, revealing a cramped room with stairs descending into more darkness. Devgan’s GREMLIN flew over, the attached headlights providing the only light.

“Got the stairwell,” she reported, “and I’m ready to roll.”

Odinson finished storing a long pair of silver knives in his pack, and beckoned to Yang. “Chin up, kid. Let’s go find your friends.”

As she left, the golden brawler could feel the sightless gaze of the dead cat Faunus on her back.

 

* * *

 

More rooms, more tanks, more dead hanging lifelessly in prisons of solid light. Mu Lan would occasionally alert them to guard posts or turret systems. Central would alert them to the approach of dropships with their armed cargo converging on the facility. They ran from firefights, preferring to leave mines behind instead. Down the stairs, to another floor filled with ghostly green light and the sickly red of ADVENT’s symbol… and no Ruby in sight.

“She has to be here,” Yang muttered to herself as they reached the fourth, and last, underground floor. “She has to be, she has to be. Mu Lan wouldn’t lie about this."

The stench of Grimm was stronger here. New tanks lined these walls: ones filled with bubbling darkness that occasionally grew angry red eyes, only to melt back into the dark goo.

“I’m picking up a signal!” Devgan pointed to a nondescript black tank. Set into the wall behind it was a folded scythe.

“It’s sort of like the one we found you in, Xiao Long,” Odinson said. “Central, Tangent – are we clear to open it?”

“-ermission granted,” Central said hastily, as if he had just remembered to turn on his mike. “Overwatch the door. Yang, open up the tank.”

Odinson turned squarely on his heel and faced the only entrance into the room. Yang rushed over to the tank and pulled on the only lever she could see. The tank’s doors slid open, revealing a silver-eyed girl.

“Yang?” Ruby asked weakly. “You… you’re real? This isn’t a dream. You–“

“I’m here, sis. Come here you–“

Yang tried to grab her sister, but the pool of lime-green light sent shocks through them both. They screamed – flashes of a dark poisonous land filled with crystals filled their minds – and then Ruby tumbled out of the tank and into Yang’s arms.

“What am I forgetting?” Ruby asked softly. It broke her sister’s heart to hear the younger girl feeling so vulnerable. “I… we fought a war, Uncle Qrow died, he fell, what _am I forgetting?_ ”

Yang shook her head. “Rubes, I don’t remember this… Maybe it was just a bad dream?”

“It wasn’t!” Ruby began to cry. “Pyrrha burning alive, a woman called Salem – they’re dead, they’re dead–“

“But we’ve got each other,” the golden brawler muttered into those red-tinted locks. Tears leaked from her cheeks. “I’ve gotcha, sis, I’m here now.”

Ruby pounded her fists against Yang’s back. “Everybody’s gone, Yang! Mom, dad, Uncle Qrow, Aunt Raven–“

“Shhh.” Yang rocked them back and forth. “Remember, sis? _Like the smell of a rose on a summer’s day, I will be there to chase all your fears away…_ ”

“Don’t sing.” Ruby sniffled. “I want to remember.”

“Rubes… I don’t know what happened.” Yang took her sister by the shoulders and stared into those silver eyes. How many nights had she spent when she was young, reading stories of knights and dragons until Ruby finally drifted to sleep? “All I know, is that you’re here with me. We’re not on Remnant anymore.” The elder sister wiped a tear from the younger’s cheek. “Listen to me, Rubes. We’re gonna fight. We’ve got weapons. We’re gonna tear the guys who took our home away apart. Maybe one day, we’ll go home… but for now, let’s get _yangry_.”

“Your puns aren’t as funny as you think they are,” Ruby said, but she rose to her feet. Yang opened her pack and handed her a set of clothes and body armor. “Hey, what happened to my uniform?”

“Got it here,” Odinson said, as he withdrew the combat dress from the drawer hidden in the walls. “Wear the armor, squirt. The Commander will have our heads if you get hurt.”

“I’m not a squirt.” Ruby stuck out her tongue at the man’s back, but she put on the armor nevertheless. “This is a bit big,” she said, pulling on the straps.

“How the fuck do you carry this?” Devgan grunted as he hauled Crescent Rose over. WALL-E swooped down and deposited an earpiece at Ruby’s feet.

Ruby easily lifted it out of his arms and hugged the folded up scythe. The ceramic plates in her bullet-proof vest crinkled. “My baby! Oh, I missed you. Didja miss me? And… I’m guessing I gotta put this in my ear,” she said, picking up the earpiece.

'You got it, sis." Yang smiled at her younger sister and touched her mike. “Xiao Long to Central. We’ve got the Xiao Long-Rose family back together.”

“Good work. Kelly and the rest are holding ADVENT off,” Central replied. “Recover Blake, and get the hell out of there.”

“We’re getting readings in the third room down the hall,” Shen reported. “Check there.”

 

“So… what’s happened?” Ruby asked as she slung the scythe over her shoulders. “Why’s everyone so… grim?”

“Was that a pun?” Yang asked as she ushered her sister out the door. Devgan and Odinson were hot on their tail. “Because there was liquid Grimm in those tanks.”

Ruby shuddered. “Eww. Grimm juice.”

“I know, right? Wouldn't want a sip of that.” Yang shrugged and held her rifle aloft. The trigger had become familiar to her fingers, but she still preferred the feel of Ember Celica. “Well… I went on a couple’ missions. Raided a train. Blew up a few things. And–“

“Perhaps you could catch up at home?” Mu Lan said. “I’m sure Blake would like to join in.”

“Gotcha, Mu Lan – Comman – Tangent.” Yang shrugged at her sister. “It’s been a weird few weeks. Long story short. Alien abduction! Maybe alien probing. And now alien fighting.”

“I’m a little sad,” Ruby said as they entered the third room. “Why couldn’t my fairy tales be true, instead of… this?” Her silver eyes widened as she looked around the room. There were more bodies here – ones obviously trapped in death, long before they had been taken… including one grey-haired body, wrapped in a tattered dark red cloak.

They ran up to the glass. Though he was missing half his lower jaw, it was unmistakably the sharp angles of Uncle Qrow’s face.

Yang immediately covered her sister’s eyes. She wanted to throw up.

Ruby made retching and plaintive noises behind Yang’s hand. Heat boiled beneath Yang’s skin, something that sang so strongly of Aura that it banished the stench of Grimm from the room.

 _Run, run_ , every nerve cried. Yang stumbled back, faintly hearing Odinson’s words, “-no, sir, think they found someone they knew well – the body’s torn up pretty bad, but it’s well preserved–“

“Hey, Yang. Ruby.” Mu Lan’s voice cut through the terrified haze. A presence like cold fur settled over Yang’s shoulders. “It’s horrible. But you need to rescue the living. Don’t let Blake become like your uncle.”

“How do you know?” Ruby whispered.

“You told me stories about Uncle Qrow and Taiyang.” Yang could almost feel the presence tighten around her shoulders - solid and cold, just like the flat of Uncle Qrow's blade. “I guessed. Keep moving, firecracker. Keep moving.”

Yang took a deep, steadying breath. Her sister was falling to pieces in front of her. She had to be strong.

She was the older sister. She needed to be the older sister.

“Is Blake here?” the golden brawler asked, pointedly not looking at the tank.

“This one.” Devgan began withdrawing a large cleaver from its hold in the wall. “Hey, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Yang forced a smile to her lips. It was well-practiced, and felt natural enough. “Not your fault. C’mon, sis, let’s get RWBY back together. Pull that lever.”

Ruby did so.

The green light gushed out, revealing a Cat Faunus – breathing, whole and assuredly alive – in its depths.

 

“Blakey!” Yang tapped the side of the tank with forced cheer. Blake’s eyes shot open. “We found you! Hey, guess what?”

“Is this going to be a bad pun?” Blake asked, though she still smiled. She pressed her hands against the invisible barrier. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“You gotta think small to get out of the container.” Yang mimed pawing at the glass. “Yanno, like a kitten. Let me out! Let meow!”

“…I changed my mind. The tank was very quiet after all.” Blake shook her head and furrowed her brow. Seconds later, she dropped from the green field of light. Blake would have fallen onto the floor, had Yang not caught her.

“More clothes for the clothes god,” Devgan intoned as he threw the armor in their direction, “armor for the armor throne.”

“Will you men ever take _anything_ seriously?” Central sighed.

“I seem to have been dropped in a war zone,” Blake said as she tugged the long sleeved shirt over her head. “For one,” she put on the flak jacket, “this is more armor than I have ever worn in my life.”

“You guys fought giant monsters,” Odinson tapped the sleeve of the combat dress hanging out of his backpack, “in prom dresses? The hell did they teach you?”

“The art of being awesome,” Yang replied.

“Having Aura does help.” Blake took Gambol Shroud and scanned the assembled soldiers. “Do we have Dust bullets?”

Yang whistled. “Uh, about that. So apparently this planet doesn’t have a Schnee Dust Company, or any Dust, for that matter.”

Ruby groaned. “Aww, no more blowing up Grimm?”

“Urist has the X4, but that’s meant for leaving a crater,” Odinson said.

“That’s fine too. So! When do I get to kill Grimm?” Ruby asked, hoisting her scythe. “I feel them around, but I don’t exactly see them…”

Blake’s bow twitched. “We’re missing someone,” she stated.

“We’re all accounted for and ready to go,” Odinson said. “Unless there’s another–“

“Yes.” Blake tugged on her partner’s sleeve. “Weiss is up there! We have to get her out! Now! They’re doing something to her!”

“My scanners should have sensed Weiss,” Shen said. “It’s not possible, unless…”

“Go on,” Mu Lan prompted.

“Back when we first got Yang,” Shen said slowly, “when the Grimm attacked, my sensors couldn’t pick up Yang.”

“There’s Grimm prowling the facility.” Yang stated. “Not just in the tanks – I think there’s solid Grimm roaming around.”

“But we would’ve heard them!” Ruby held her scythe at the ready and looked around. “They’re not really quiet!”

“Brick to Central,” Odinson said, “is it just me, or are those tanks leaking?”

Yang squinted. It was hard to see in the dim laboratory room, but the tanks of Grimm goo were indeed leaking black gas from tiny vents in their base.

"The gas has a remarkably similar composition to the samples recovered from Xiao Long's prison," Dr. Tygan stated.

“Who are you? It doesn't matter. We’ve got to seal them!” Blake looked around. “Do you have glue – fabric – anything - no, not my uniform, that's armored – to fix the vents?”

“Guys…?” Devgan asked. WALL-E buzzed unhappily over his shoulder. “The goo’s going towards the corpse.”

Yang took a deep breath, and turned towards the body of her beloved uncle.

The Grimm matter had coalesced over his body in dark tendrils. It reformed the missing jaw and limbs, brought strength to limp muscles and power to unused bones.

When Uncle Qrow opened his eyes, they were bright red.

"Run," Yang said, stepping in front of her sister. "Ruby, don't look. It's not him. Just run."

The monster her uncle had become burst out of the tank and took out the massive longsword mounted by his prison. Puddles of Grimm started taking shape – Beowolves, Deathstalkers, Nevermores – and from the only exit came the familiar jabber of ADVENT troops.

“Things just went to shit fast! We need backup!” Devgan yelled, and opened fire on the first Beowolf.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mulu-lizi: Man of fire, of the Libra constellation
> 
> Had to split the chapter into two, because it's quite long! But in the next part: *clank clank*


	17. Mulu-Lizi Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *clank* *clank*
> 
> XCOM's gon give it to ya. Now with new Weiss, Blake and Ruby flavor!

The broadsword came down in a deadly arc. Yang brought up her gauntlets and blocked the strike before it could cleave her in two. Metal screamed against metal, spitting sparks at their wielders. Yang pushed against the broadsword, trying to force it away from her face.

She knew the pattern well – Uncle Qrow’s weapon slid off Ember Celica, before the sword weaving a figure-eight that almost caught her in the chest. Yang thought of a courtyard, shadowed by stately oaks, and the sparks that once flew between their weapons as they play-dueled. But this was Signal Academy no longer. Her uncle was gone.

Yang lined up Ember Celica. She fired a precious Dust Round straight at her Uncle’s chest. Instead of rebounding off his Auric shields, it pierced his ripped tunic went straight through the flesh. Black ribbons of Grimm essence immediately weaved over the wound, sealing it tight.

She knew her teammates would have to shoot her uncle, but that didn’t make it any less painful when Central shouted, “Don’t slash, shoot it!” and Odinson’s rifle came up and spat hot shards of metal.

The thing that had become her uncle snarled at Odinson and swept out with the flat of its blade. Momentum threw Yang to the side, smashing her into a tank of Grimm goo. Glass shattered. Black essence cascaded out, drenching Yang and leaving her open for the claws of a hungry Ursa.

That would have been the end of the golden brawler, had Ruby not swung her great scythe and cleaved the growing beast in two.

Devgan let go of his rifle only long enough to scoop some Grimm essence into a flask. He straightened, only to be brought down again by a pouncing Beowolf. Jaws as black as night attempted to close over the tanned man’s neck.

Yang cocked Ember Celica, and fired. The Beowolf fell limp, a neat hole smoking in its neck.

“Owe you one!” Devgan shouted. He reloaded his weapon and hosed down the Grimm attacking Odinson.

“Takk!” Odinson said. His machete came up, barely blocking the blow from uncle Qrow’s weapon. Odinson’s machete screeched, the sound of metal ready to crack. Ruby charged forward and swung at Uncle Qrow.

Yang made her way back to Blake. The Cat Faunus was struggling to get to her feet. Blake fought from the floor – Gambol Shroud weaving a deadly web from Grimm to Grimm – but that didn’t protect her from the hail of bullets that suddenly smashed the left wall. Yang stood in front of her downed partner, and took the blow. She gritted her teeth as the bullets pierced her armor and scored her skin.

An ADVENT Captain stood in the breach, surrounded by blocky ADVENT MECs. It pointed its finger at the group and jabbered.

“Get to the upper floor, and rescue Weiss!” Central shouted. “Retreat! Now! Yang, Ruby – cover your team! Zero, pick up Blake – Odinson, gun down anything outside that door!”

Odinson’s machete danced, heat venting from the sides of the blade. Electricity crackled as it came down on the ADVENT MECs. He sheathed his sword and brought up his shotgun at point blank range.

Devgan shouldered Blake as the ADVENT MECs fell. “Sorry about that. You’re boarding the potato express.”

“I’ll keep your back safe,” Blake said, her cleaver slicing through a nascent Deathstalker’s claw. “Just move!”

“Take down the Nevermore, Yang!” Ruby commanded. Crescent Rose danced through the limbs and heads of Beowolves, only to come to a standstill when it met her uncle’s blade.

Ruby whimpered. “I don’t want to hurt you, Uncle Qrow!”

Qrow snarled and slashed.

Crescent Rose deflected the blow and sliced through his abdomen. Qrow dropped the floor. The wound immediately began to reseal, but it bought Ruby precious seconds. She ran for the breach.

“Everyone get clear!” Yang yelled.

Yang loaded a grenade into her launcher and fired at the Nevermore. The grenade ticked – once – Yang ran for the exit – twice – she took cover beside a cracked tank – three times –

The explosion rocked the room.

“Get to the top floor!” Central’s voice nearly blew out her ringing eardrums. “We’re picking up Weiss! There’s a self-destruct mechanism on her chamber! You have to get there within the next ten minutes, or she’s gone!”

 

* * *

 

They ran up the stairs. Grimm snapped at their heels. Uncle Qrow didn’t use his Semblance – at least, Yang didn’t think he could transform into a Nevermore – but his longsword took out chunks of the staircase. Sectoids and Vipers dropped out of alcoves set in the ceiling. MECs attempted to shred the motley XCOM crew with their micro-missiles (Yang briefly thought of asking Ruby to mod Ember Celica to fire those missiles, but after almost losing her face for the fifth time, she settled for punching the robotic annoyances.) It was utter chaos.

Out of her original 16 bullets, ten were in storage for studies. Yang only had four precious Dust rounds left in Ember Celica.

They had made it to the ground floor when they were overwhelmed.

Devgan was limping heavily. Blood drained from a cut on the back of his thigh. Central had ordered Yang to cauterize the wound with her flames, and Devgan had used his GREMLIN’s first aid supplies, but the man still needed medical attention fast.

Odinson was struggling to beat back the tides of Grimm. He was bleeding from a thousand places – little nips from Nevermore beaks, gouges from an Ursa’s claws – and the skin around his shoulder was turning a sickly green. Ruby had killed the Deathstalker, but not until it had gotten its stinger through the man’s shoulder. Odinson had resorted to swinging his weapon wildly and hoping it killed something.

The Remnant girls hadn’t fared much better, although they had the benefit of Aura running through their bodies.

Yang finally stumbled, and hit the floor. She was immediately buried under a tide of Grimm. The Grimm pinned her in place – out of the corner of her eye, she watched her Uncle approach.

“Odinson! Shoot the Grimm off Yang!” Central ordered.

“Running on empty…” the Ranger replied as he reloaded. He shot Qrow in the stomach, but it merely slowed the monstrous construct.

“They want Yang,” Mu Lan said.

“Decgan, toss a grenade!”

“Sir, I’m all out!” Devgan said.

Her uncle raised his longsword.

 _This is how it ends?_ Yang thought as she struggled. _This can’t be it!_

“I’m sorry,” she heard Ruby whisper over the whistle of the descending sword.

Yang saw silver light, leaking into the corners of her eyes.

Ruby screamed.

White winged power poured from Ruby’s small body and burned away every Grimm in sight. Fire sang through Yang’s veins, coaxed out by the Aura flooding the room. The white magic swirled around Ruby’s hands, gaining rose petals from the Aura leaking from her bare skin – and lanced towards Qrow. The magic solidified, browning and toughening into slender boles that held their Uncle fast. He screamed with the tongue of Nevermores and Beowolves. The longsword came down, splintering the boles in his left hand, but he was still imprisoned. Petals flew everywhere, as the trees took root and embedded themselves in the facility floor.

Yang got up.

She touched her belly. The long slash that had once marred the skin – a gift from an Ursa, whose claws slipped beneath her armor – was gone.

Blake was fully healed as well. Odinson and Devgan were still bleeding, but they no longer looked ready to collapse.

“What the hell was that?” Central asked. “Never mind. Menace 1-5, get to the top floor! You have five minutes left!”

“Don’t ask.” Ruby began to run. “It won’t hold Uncle Qrow forever!”

“Where are you going?” Devgan asked as he limped after her.

“I can feel Weiss! Hurry!” Ruby shouted.

 

* * *

 

They made it to the top floor, relatively unmolested by Grimm or aliens.

An almost empty room dominated the top floor. Screens and terminals covered every wall. The main focus was a large translucent egg-shaped container, with black snowflake-like patterns over the poles, hanging from a long pillar in the center of the room. Yang could barely see the silhouette of a long-haired girl within.

The air hummed with a strange, wintry energy. Yang breathed in. It tasted like a cold night, just before the first snow.

“Sight-see later,” Central said. “Menace 1-5, you have two minutes left before our target expires!”

Devgan peeled off to inspect the room’s consoles. “Attempting hack to neutralize self-destruct mode,” he said, as WALL-E hummed.

They waited with baited breath. Ruby examined the egg, but she kept her hands well away. The silhouette was moving, jittering as if caught in an electric current.

“Hey, Weiss,” Yang’s sister said softly. The silhouette cocked its head. “Hang in there. We’re here. We’re gonna get you out.”

“Sir, you want the data cache, or the satellite scans?” There was a short silence, broken only by Devgan’s typing. “Data? All right… and, we’ve got it.”

Hidden drawers slid open around the room. Blake shifted on Devgan’s shoulders to pluck a familiar white dress, bolero and boots from one such drawer. “More clothes for the clothes throne,” the Cat Faunus muttered sleepily.

“I like you already,” Devgan chuckled. “All right… how do we open the egg?”

“Can I crack it?” Yang asked, slamming her fists together.

"I'm still in here!" Weiss protested.

“Mu Lan, you want this egg thingy?” Ruby asked.

“In one piece, if you could,” Tygan chipped in. “But unless one of you can carry it–“

Yang prepared to load up her grenade launcher. “If I blow a hole in the roof, can you pull it out?”

“As long as you secure it properly,” Central said, “and call an evac. Get Weiss out first.”

Ruby studied the pod. “Hey… guys, there’s these patterns… a snowflake, a flame, a leaf and a flower…” She traced the outlines of the flower. Yang could’ve sworn the flower glowed silver, but it was hard to tell against the white egg. “Think they mean anything?”

“Touch the container!” Weiss said, her voice muffled. “I can slice through it, but I need you to touch it!”

“Sounds like a trap,” Devgan said.

“Probably is.” Blake yawned. “I’d put one there.”

“I’m detecting extensive circuitry,” Shen said, “like some sort of network, but there’s no explosives. If it’s going to kill you, it’s through electrocution.”

Everyone could hear the sound of ripping tiles and wood from one floor below.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Central said. “You’re out of time, Menace 1-5. Get all Remnant girls to touch… whatever that thing is. Devgan, carry Blake over. Ruby, Yang, go free your friend.”

“Hurry!” Weiss said. “I’m trying to slow down that peasant who smells like whiskey, but he’s coming!”

“She’s controlling… that thing?” Central asked.

“That was my uncle Qrow,” Ruby said as she laid a hand on the egg. Blake and Yang did the same.

“Not exactly,” Weiss said. The egg glowed. “I’ll explain later. For now… take this!”

Once again, the air went blinding white.

Yang swore she saw a tiny sword slicing through the air.

It was a very cute sword. She could’ve used it to spear a strawberry for her favorite drink.

 _I’m losing it_ , she thought. _Got knocked about too much._

 

When their vision returned, they found Weiss lay sprawled on the floor. Myrtenaster had dropped out of the egg beside her. The egg had bloomed, peeling open into four equal sections.

“What just happened?” Ruby groaned, touching her head.

Blake tossed Weiss’s clothes over. “Get dressed, princess.”

“It’s heiress, actually,” Weiss murmured as she shrugged on her dress.

“We’ll think about it later,” Central said. “Yang, shoot out the ceiling six meters to your right. Odinson, call down an EVAC. Everyone else, move towards the door.”

Yang got to her feet, and went to the far wall. A black-gloved hand loaded a grenade into her launcher. She aimed slightly off the center of the facility and fired.

Night’s sweet air swept into the room, tainted with the dust and stench of burnt metal.

Light blue flares dropped onto the floor below.

“In position!” Firebrand reported over Yang’s headset. “There’s something out there! Repositioning in one minute!”

Yang looked back. Weiss had somehow managed to close up the egg and detach it from the pole. Odinson had fashioned some sort of net, which he used to drag the egg over to the EVAC zone. He took off his backpack and clipped it onto the net.

“Zero, go up,” the team leader said. “Blake, go with him.”

“What if you need to hack something?” Devgan asked.

“We need to move in thirty!” Firebrand warned.

“We’re done here, and you’re bleeding out.” Odinson dragged Devgan and Blake over. A hook descended from the Skyranger’s passenger bay. Blake helped the men hook the egg up, and the prison disappeared into the night sky. “Up you go. You girls – that egg goes up, and it’s your turn.”

Blake looked at her friends. The Remnant girls smiled back at her.

“I’ll see you soon,” Blake said, as she caught hold of the rope that descended. Devgan twined the rope around his arm, and up the duo went.

“Weiss, you’re next,” Central ordered.

“No time!” Firebrand said. Guns screamed outside the hole in the roof. “Central, I’ve got turrets! Repositioning now!”

“Why can’t it ever be simple?” Central sighed.

“Thanks for jinxing us, sir,” Odinson said as he knelt by Weiss. “Can you stand, or do you need to take the potato express?”

“I won’t even ask. But a ride would be nice,” she said. Odinson slung her over his broad shoulders in what Central had called a fireman’s carry. “Ow! Don’t do that! My side’s on fire! I was connected physically to that egg, you know.”

“Where do the aliens get these ideas?” Shen wondered. “Anime?”

“I don’t know what anime is,” Central said as Odinson adjusted his load. It looked more like he was giving Weiss a piggy back ride. “And I don’t want to find out.”

“Only the best for the princess,” Ruby said as she presented Myrtenaster to its owner.

“It’s heiress, actually.” Weiss checked the Dust canisters, then fitted the comm to her ear. “Good. Angelis and Tinia didn’t mess around with this.”

“Who the hell are–“ Central sighed. “Got it. I know nothing.”

“Kept my promise, Weiss,” Mu Lan said, “I did say I’d find you.”

Weiss smiled and shook her head. Her long white ponytail danced over her shoulders. “It’s good to hear you too, Mu Lan.”

Central groaned.

 _We’ve gone all sorts of weird_ , Yang thought, resisting the urge to giggle, then, _the blood loss is doing things to my head._

 

“Menace 1-5, get the girls to ground floor and rendez-vous with the distraction team. They’re fending off ADVENT as we speak,” Central said in the most world-weary dad tone Yang had ever heard. “Just… kill everything in your way, and get to the EVAC zone alive. Ruby, take point– that means stay in front – Yang, stay behind Odinson, and make sure everyone gets out alive.”

From the staircase, Yang could hear the distinct sound of her Uncle’s sword clanging against the bannisters.

“My uncle’s coming up the stairs!” she said.

“Blow a hole through the side of the wall you’re facing,” Central said. “Odinson, you still have rope?”

“…I sent my backpack up, sir. It had my rope.”

“Yang, blow a hole through the west wall – the one you’re standing in front of.” Central’s voice steadily increased in pitch and frustration. “Ruby, watch the staircase for your Uncle. Odinson, report back when there’s a hole.”

Yang loaded her last grenade into her launcher and fired. The wall blew out in a cloud of acrid smoke and crackling electronics.

“It’s a one floor drop, Central,” Odinson reported. “We could make it.”

“Uncle Qrow’s here! Oh jeez! There’s a whole party here! There’s Neon Katt, and Coco, and – there’s too many!” Ruby yelled. Crescent Rose scythed through the air and clanged against the longsword. “And I don’t remember how to make the trees pop up!”

“Everyone jump!” Central said.

Yang edged back to the wall. She looked down. Green plasma lanced through the night, occasionally interspersed with bursts of red magnetically slung metal from ADVENT captains’ rifles. Mutons roared – ADVENT MECs chittered – XCOM was screaming, their guns were shrieking. In the light pouring out from the facility, Yang could distinguish men and women huddled over prone bodies or in the shadow of massive containers. XCOM was vastly out-numbered.

She looked back at the door, where Ruby was crying as the red reaper fought off her uncle.

“Have a nice landing!” Yang said, and pushed Odinson out the newly-formed door.

“Hey!” Weiss protested.

“Leeroy Jenkins!” Odinson yelled as he fell.

“You’re not being serious enough,” Weiss protested. The air around the duo became golden with the glow of a glyph. When the time-stop glyph wore off, Odinson and Weiss had landed softly on the ground.

“Ruby!” Yang fired another precious Dust Round that caught her uncle in the head. “Jump!”

Ruby sped past, tears flying in her wake, and jumped into the darkness.

Her uncle had recovered. A milky eye trailed in his wake as he rushed forward. It had been replaced by bubbling darkness in its socket.

Yang threw up, and tumbled out of the facility.

Weiss conjured a red-black rebound glyph underneath the falling brawler.

“Everything all right?” Central asked as Yang landed on the glyph.

“I’ve seen things,” Yang said wetly, and wiped her mouth.

“You’re almost there,” Central said. “The EVAC point is by the loading bay – you’re on the opposite side of the facility–“

“FUCK ME,” Adler barked from somewhere in the distance. “FOOTBALL TEAM, HEADING YOUR WAY!”

Mutons roared in the same direction as the loading bay. A flood of resurrected Remnant Hunters and Huntresses chittered as they poured out of the building.

Something clicked in Yang’s ear, and she was able to hear all the commands Central was issuing. Adler and Urist were clearing the landing zone with pinpoint shots and grenades. Kelly was busy fighting off the hordes of Grimm. Yang and Ruby did their best to help out – a swing of Crescent Rose to save Kelly’s neck there, a punch to the face to slow down a resurrected Fox Alistair – but the horde was relentless.

XCOM was nothing if not persistent.

They lit the night with their grenades and bullets.

 

Yang kept burning. She killed every alien she could get her gauntleted hands on – if the Grimm somehow managed to surround her, then Odinson would be there, swinging away to give her breathing room. She could hear Central shepherding the rest of her team to the other side of the facility, but only barely over the howls of Beowolves and the jabber of ADVENT troopers.

“C’mon, Yang, keep moving to EVAC!” Central barked. Yang punched away the last Beowolf. “You’re going in the wrong direction!”

Yang wanted to drop to the floor and sleep, but she punched herself, and let her Aura recharge her depleted energy stores.

“Head to the shipping containers on your left!” Central said. “Kelly and Ruby are overwatching there!”

“Moving… at the speed of death,” Yang muttered as she pulled herself to the shipping containers. She kept her rifle ready, but it was hard to concentrate. Kelly and Urist were backed against the shipping containers. She only had to walk another fifteen meters.

Uncle Qrow lunged out of the darkness like an angry specter. Yang blocked the blow with her gauntlets. She dug her heels into the boggy earth, drew on all her Auric power, and shoved.

Uncle Qrow went flying. His body cracked as something solid connected with his back. Uncle Qrow went still, but Yang knew the reprieve was temporary.

“Thanks, guys!” Yang said, advancing, though she really wanted to cry. “I–“

She stopped short. Her savior was not human.

Yang was staring down the ugly mug of a Muton.

Before she could react, the Muton raised its rifle and fired point-blank. The world flashed, as the bullets depleted the last of Yang’s Auric reserves.

“Out of Aura…” Yang managed to say. She sank against the shipping container’s corrugated metal, breathing hard. “I… need a breather…”

“Kelly!” Central said. “Kill that Muton!”

“What? Why?” the Ranger replied. “I’m out of ammo!”

“Then slash it!” Central ordered. “You need Yang to get out alive!”

“If I die here, I’m dragging you with me!” Kelly screamed, and charged the Muton.

“Stop!” Mu Lan cried. “It’s going to–“

The bayonet pierced Kelly’s shoulder.

“-Counterattack…” Mu Lan finished.

There was radio silence.

Ruby rushed forward. With unbelievable speed for a girl recently extracted from a tank, she sped past the bewildered Muton and hefted Kelly over her shoulder. Scarlet billowed around her form as Ruby kept running, a little blur of red on the barren battlefield. She skidded to a stop right beside Yang.

“Remember when you used to give me piggy back rides?” Ruby asked, holding her hand out.

“You can’t fit both of us.”

“Nope!” Ruby buried the head of Crescent Rose in the ground. A glowing red-black glyph appeared beneath her feet. “Take my hand, and let’s fly!”

Yang grabbed her sister’s hand, just before the glyph activated and sent the duo flying. Ruby kept firing Crescent Rose, using the recoil to easily clear the roof of the facility. Kelly was screaming bloody murder over the red reaper’s back. Yang fired Ember Celica. Shotgun shells trailed in her flaming wake. She had just enough energy to clear the roof of the facility and the head of a very confused sniper. The golden brawler landed on the other side.

Every bone in her body ached.

“Is everyone here?” Urist asked. The grenadier took her hand off her rifle long enough to wave at Yang, then gunned down an ADVENT trooper. “Welcome to the party!”

“I don’t like it,” Kelly grumbled. Her blood soaked through Ruby’s cape. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for saving my life – need a medic…”

“I’m pooped,” the blonde brawler said. She punched an Ursa’s jaw off. “Can we go home now?”

“Um, Central?” Shen said. “I’m detecting a large electronic presence inside the facility.”

The earth rumbled.

“Because we needed the extra hassle,” Adler said, hopping off the roof of the facility. “Fuck me.”

 

A giant robot rose out of the ruins of the facility. It reminded Yang of the Paladin she had once battled on the streets of Vale. This beast stood on two legs as well, but the bulk of its mass was concentrated in a head bristling with guns.

“What the hell is that thing?” Urist yelled.

“Fuck, not these again!” Odinson ran for cover behind the shipping containers.

“Menace team, that’s a Sectopod!” Central said. “You don’t have the firepower to take that thing! Get the hell out of there! Just get to EVAC! – scratch that, Firebrand can’t hover – kill that thing! Odinson, shoot it! No, Urist – grenade it first! Odinson, reload!”

“Sir, make up your mind!” Odinson said as he reloaded.

Urist loaded a grenade into her cannon and charged towards the massive robot. The Sectopod’s head followed her. She dropped the ground and slid forward.

Red lights streamed out from the Sectopod and focused on the Grenadier.

The Sectopod fired.

Urist screamed. Where her right arm had been was a chunky mess of bits of bone, and cut-up flesh. The onslaught of high-powered metal had destroyed her grenade launcher, sending bits of metal deep into the Grenadier’s body.

Click… click…

Something exploded beneath the Sectopod’s body. The massive robot shuddered, but was otherwise unmoved. It kicked Urist away with a huge iron foot.

Urist’s body hit a shipping container, and fell limply to the ground. Blood streamed from the impact zone.

The grenadier moved no more.

“No! No! This isn’t right!” Adler shouted. He ran past Yang and took cover behind another shipping container.

“I wanna go home…” Urist coughed. “I… I don’t wanna die here…”

“Doke! We need to go, and now!” Yoshida said. Bullets shot from behind a red-light fence. A flash of green light accompanied them. “Ow! Fuck! I’m bleeding out, I need a medic!”

“Fuck… I feel like I’m dying.” Kelly struggled for breath. “Ow… this is… this is pretty bad…”

Odinson tried to crawl to Urist, but the Sectopod’s lasers focused on him. Odinson booked it, aided by Weiss’s glyphs, and the duo barely avoided being turned into mincemeat.

“Central!” Odinson shouted. “What do we do?”

For once, Central was silent.

“Central!” Yoshida cried. “We need orders!”

There was radio silence.

“I… don't…” It sounded like Central was struggling to breathe. “I – I failed, I don’t–“

Odinson shot Yang a glance. It screamed, “we are so fucked.”

The Sectopod sent out a barrage of rockets. Yang ran – as fast as she could go – and narrowly escaped the impact zone.

The Grimm were closing in. Yang could see her Uncle’s hunched form in the crowd.

And then Mu Lan started speaking.

 

“Weiss, conjure a time-slowing glyph over Urist,” she ordered.

“I’m almost out of Aura!” the Heiress protested.

“I know, Weiss. Trust me,” Mu Lan said. “You can do this. You conjured that sword. What’s one glyph more?”

Something like icy fur curled around Yang’s chest. It soothed the aching wounds, and breathed new life into Yang’s body.

Flames started to flicker over the golden brawler’s body.

Weiss huffed, but drew Myrtenaster. The air condensed over Urist’s body, turning into a thick golden soup.

“Yoshida, send your GREMLIN over to Urist. Use a healing charge,” Mu Lan said. “Yang, pick up Urist, and then regroup with your friends. Now. Kelly, take a deep breath. Everything will be fine. We will get you home. Adler, cover Yang. Odinson, focus your fire on the Sectopod.”

“I’m too far, sir!” Odinson said.

“I know. You just need to distract it,” Mu Lan said. “You’ll buy Yang enough time.”

Yang gunned down the Sectoid about to send a tendril of purple psionic power over to Urist. She gathered the broken body – somehow, Urist was still breathing, though her chest moved shallowly – and sprinted over to Ruby and Weiss.

Fire flowed through Yang’s body. It didn’t scream for blood as it usually did: this was a gentler fire, that longed for a hearth and home. It wasn’t the bright gold flames of her Semblance – these flames were tinged with light blue.

“Tangent to Remnant. That Sectopod can’t turn quickly,” Mu Lan said. “Break its legs to slow it down.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Weiss asked, looking at her sword. Myrtenaster was a toothpick compared to the monster that faced them down.

“You know best, Weiss. Yoshida, send your GREMLIN to shock it,” Mu Lan said. “Adler, I want a bullet in its left leg at the same time.”

Adler didn’t fire, but Yoshida sent out her GREMLIN.

Yang thought hard. She had exhausted her Aura, but it was regenerating as she stood. She had one Dust Round left, but she wanted to save it in case her Uncle returned.

“Mu Lan, I could tie it up,” Weiss said, spinning the canisters of Dust in Myrtenaster's hilt. Yoshida's GREMLIN discharged a cloud of electric sparks. The Sectopod shuddered.

“Not alone. Ruby? Show them what you can do,” Mu Lan said.

Ruby looked at the Sectopod, then came to a decision. “Yang, get Weiss on top of me! We’re gonna Iceflower it!”

Weiss merely slotted the ice Dust canister into position.

Yang hefted the heiress on Ruby’s shoulders.

“Let’s go!” Weiss cried.

The duo charged forward: Weiss on Ruby’s shoulders, a red-black glyph glowing behind her. The scarlet cloak streamed out from Ruby’s tiny body, almost hiding Crescent Rose.

“Freeze it!” she cried.

Weiss flicked her wrist. White light spun down Myrtenaster's blade, conjuring a white glyph before Ruby.

The spring air tasted of winter.

Crescent Rose barked – once, twice – and bullets shot through glyph, immediately gaining a thick coating of ice. The Sectopod fired, but Ruby and Weiss were no longer in the same position by the time the bullets hit. Time seemed to slow and curve as Ruby came back around – she ran faster and faster, until all that Yang could see of Ruby was a twirling red cloak shedding rose petals in its wake.

Adler’s sniper rifle coughed. More bullets shot through the air, denting the turrets mounted to the Sectopod’s head.

“Kelly, run to Yang’s position and pick up Urist!” Mu Lan ordered.

Yang caught sight of a grey and black-wreathed man, stumbling towards her. “Mu Lan, uncle Qrow’s coming back!”

“I know, Yang. You’re not going to like what I’m going to say.”

“What?” Yang asked.

“Yoshida? Shock the man heading towards Yang.”

Yoshida’s GREMLIN flew over. It discharged a thick cloud of electricity. Uncle Qrow kept on stumbling closer, but he had slowed down. His face was torn and bloody, but it was regenerating – milky eyes back in their sockets, the rugged face sewing itself back together – and for a moment, he looked like the Uncle she knew and loved.

Then his irises went red.

Yang raised Ember Celica, and shot him in the chest.

Uncle Qrow was no longer near the swarms of Grimm – and perhaps that was the reason why he lay still. She walked forward. The grass at her feet burned and smoked. She touched his face – the Grimm matter evaporated at her touch – and the flesh became whole once more. Black lines of corruption still crawled over his face, but he felt warmer, as if he had been tanning in the sun after a long day at Signal.

“ _Good job, firecracker,_ ” she heard Qrow say. “ _Looks like you remembered what my sis taught you_.”

The golden brawler wept.

“We’ve got you, Yang,” Mu Lan said. The icy fur presence increased, fluffing up Yang’s head. “Come on, Yang. Let’s make ADVENT pay for what they done. One foot forward. We can cry later. Make them bleed now.”

As the battle raged around her, Yang stopped crying. She cradled her uncle’s head.

“I miss you,” she said. She raised her fire-wreathed fists. It seemed only appropriate to burn him so that ADVENT and the Grimm could never touch him again.

“Yang, pick him up, and bring him home,” Mu Lan said.

Yang recoiled.

“I know. I know you don’t want to do it,” Mu Lan said gently. “But it’s for–“

“Did you see what they did?” she yelled.

“I did. And we need to stop it.” The presence glided over Yang’s shoulders, as if to pat her. “It starts with a key, Yang. We’ll give your uncle justice, but we need to know what they did to him.”

Yang slowly shouldered her unhappy burden.

 

“Everyone to the EVAC flares!” Mu Lan ordered. “The X4 charges are ready to blow! Odinson and Yoshida – you’re on overwatch! Adler and Kelly, converge on the zone!”

Kelly ran towards her. The ranger grimaced as she saw the dead man on Yang’s back, but she picked up Urist’s prone body and did not complain.

Yang ran past the molten shipping containers. Her uncle was heavy on her shoulders. The blue flares beckoned to her. Winds buffeted her face, as the Skyranger descended on the scene.

In her wake, ADVENT chattered and traded fire with Yoshida and Odinson.

“Weiss! Ruby! Each of you grab hold of a rope!” Odinson yelled, as he reloaded.

“Kelly, Urist, follow them up!” Mu Lan said.

Ropes descended from the Skyranger’s passenger bay. Ruby and Weiss reformed into their component people: Weiss windswept and smiling, Ruby pink-cheeked and grinning. They each took a rope and ascended into the Skyranger. Kelly was quick on their heels.

“Yang, Yoshida – you’re next!” Mu Lan ordered.

Yoshida ran up from the cover of the facility ruins and caught a rope. She clipped Urist and Yang to the rope, then tugged. The automatic winch system pulled the duo up.

“Adler and Odinson – your turn to come home!” Mu Lan said.

Yang landed in the passenger bay with a thud. Devgan immediately hauled Uncle Qrow’s dead weight off of the golden brawler’s body. Urist lay by Yang’s side, still except for the slow dip of her chest. Kelly was pushing the trauma cart over. Devgan took Urist’s shoulders; Yang took Urist’s feet, and together, they gently lowered the broken Grenadier onto the cart.

Yoshida grabbed a roll of duct tape. She began taping Uncle Qrow’s arms to his body.

“Stop that,” Ruby pleaded, “give him just a bit of dignity…”

“I’m trying,” Yoshida said, “but I don’t want him to do a zombie on us in the passenger bay.” She taped down Qrow’s legs, then pulled a black bag over his body.

“Will she live?” Yang asked as Kelly grabbed a series of tubes and IVs.

“Don’t know,” Devgan said as the last of XCOM’s team entered the passenger bay. Yang did a quick headcount. Kelly and Devgan were hooking Urist up to life support; Blake, Weiss and Ruby were strapped into the Skyranger seats; Yoshida was securing two massive tanks and the egg in the hold; and Odinson and Adler were lying on the floor, gasping for breath.

Adler poked his head out of the bay.

“The Sectopod unfroze!” he said. “Firebrand, it’s aiming at us!”

“Packages on board – rubber’s on the road, and we’re taking off,” Firebrand said.

The passenger bay shuddered with the impact of the Sectopod’s bullets, but the Skyranger still shot into the sky.

“We’re clear!” Firebrand announced. “Green to detonate the explosives.”

Kelly nodded at Yang. “Big red button on my belt. Press it.”

Yang did so.

“Menace 1-5, mission accomplished,” Central said. The older man sounded sick. The Skyranger shuddered once more as the explosives went off. “Ruby, Weiss and Blake – welcome to XCOM. We’ll see you on the Avenger. Central out.”

“…Mu Lan never said anything about that.” Weiss tried to get out of her seat, but she was too weak. “Ruby, just what is going on?”

Yang looked down. She plopped onto the ground at her sister’s feet, well away from the rest of her teammates. “Well, we’re with a group called XCOM. They fight monsters! Not like Grimm, they call them aliens. The aliens sorta took over their planet, and a lot of bad things are happening, so XCOM wants to kick them out.”

“And Remnant? We’re not on Remnant any more, are we?” Ruby asked.

“No… we’re not,” Yang said.

Weiss could barely speak. “Is everyone…?”

Ruby hugged her partner. “It looks like we’re the last ones left, Weiss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Everyone's injured, Commander Bradford gets drunk, and RWBY realizes that they might be screwed.


	18. All Together Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the acting Commander of the XCOM Project, Bradford must run the ship while the Menace Team convalesces. 
> 
> Who's he kidding. This is a fucking mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XCOM EU achievement; Get satellite coverage over every country on one continent.

Bradford tapped his personal verification code into the lock-up. Carefully kept away from any of the Avenger’s vital systems (or personnel), Johnson-Pérez was still serving time in a 6 by 10 cell. Once the official ran out of information about the ADVENT hierarchy, Bradford wasn’t sure what to do with him. Half of him wanted to shoot the traitor. Dead men couldn’t talk. On the other hand, Johnson-Pérez could still be useful as an informant.

The former Central Officer took a seat at the desk before the cell. Johnson-Pérez looked up from his dinner: nothing special, just boiled chicory, clovers and cattail shoots gathered from a nearby lake.

“Been a while. What do you need?” the EXALT member asked.

“We still have a couple of questions to go through.” Bradford pulled out his tablet. “These Inquisitors you were managing. What do they do?”

Johnson-Pérez stabbed a thin slice of cattail shoot with the back of his spoon. “Weren’t a chatty bunch, and the higher ups weren't spilling. When they did speak, it was in Adventian. I think they’re just seeking out more psionically sensitive individuals for their ranks." 

“Why have psionically sensitive individuals? Weren't regular Troopers good enough?”

“Eh. Some mind control, keep people happy.” He shrugged. “Before you captured me, about two months back, Inquisitors started freaking the fuck out. Wouldn’t stop holding their heads, psionic powers would randomly cut out, the whole shebang.”

 _So about the time we rescued the Commander_. Bradford resisted the urge to chew his lip. _We’ve got dominoes effect. We could reinforce the Resistance Havens, get some turrets going – but the Commander doesn’t want turrets, she wants something more discrete to prevent ADVENT from carpet bombing the regions… we also have to set up hide-outs if our soldiers go MIA…  
_

“Don’t usually see you thinking.” Johnson-Pérez’s face suddenly split into a wide grin. "Change in leadership? I’m guessing you’re the new Commander.”

The Central Officer schooled his face into a neutral expression. “How were the–“

“Don’t lie to yourself, son.” Johnson-Pérez set down his bowl and lay back on his cot. “I remember my golf buddies complaining about your former Commander. The nastiest bit of work EXALT ever picked up. There were three of them, back then – forget their names, but she was their little ringleader.”

Bradford did his best to not look interested. “Just answer my question. How were the–“

The other man waved a lazy hand. “Oh, you poor man.” Johnson-Pérez stared up at the ceiling. “Did she tell you that she worked for EXALT?”

The Central Officer froze.

“She had a finger on every militia, a nose in every mafia. Probably would’ve killed JFK if she was alive back then.” Johnson-Pérez snorted. “Don’t know how many cocks she sucked, but she was everywhere. I can’t count how many governments she helped topple. Honestly, I pity you. You’re military, I’d bet. Chances are you were sent to die in a war she made.” He beckoned to Bradford. “Got a smoke?”

Bradford stayed quiet. _He’s lying_ , he told himself, _he’s lying, he has no reason to help you, don’t listen to him. Trust your Commander. She got the Menace team out when you–_

“Sorry to break it to you, boy.” Johnson-Pérez clicked his tongue. “Your Commander's no different than any other ADVENT politician. EXALT found out the hard way.” The wizened man sat up, relaxing against the back wall of his cell. “One day, she’s stitching up your men – the next, she’s sticking a knife in your ribs. Make sure you’re on the right side.”

“We’ll continue this at another time.” Bradford stood. “I want answers next time I see you. Otherwise, you’ll have an appointment with our Rangers.”

Johnson-Pérez grinned. “What can you do that she can’t? Good luck with that, son.”

XCOM's former Central Officer stormed out of the holding cells.

 

* * *

 

He leaned against the wall, and took a deep breath. 

(– _Urist was screaming, so loudly that his headset screeched with static_ –)

“Just make it to the end of the shift,” Bradford hissed, “grab a drink, don’t think about this. He’s lying. The Commander fought EXALT with everything XCOM had. She wouldn’t join traitors. He’s lying.”

Bradford checked his tablet, trying to chase the conversation from his mind. Tygan and Shen had sent brief status reports. They were still in surgery: Shen, stabilizing Urist; Tygan, stopping the spread of Deathstalker venom through Adler’s body. It wasn’t looking good. Shen had stuffed Urist into one of the tanks they had found the Remnant corpses in, to see if that could save her. Tygan was on the verge of cutting off Adler’s necrotized right arm.

He sucked in a breath. To fix the Menace Team, Tygan and Shen had used up almost all of the supplies onboard. XCOM needed another supply drop, and stat.

And if the Avenger needed supplies, then he needed to give Vincent Rengel a call.

 

The Resistance Coms were unmanned right now – all engineers were staffing the AWC’s life support systems. Still, as Bradford sent over his encrypted ID, he wished that somebody else was present. Even talking about the weather would take his mind off Johnson-Pérez.

Vincent picked up on the first ring. The rusty-haired man appeared onscreen, a little thinner and greyer than when the Commander had visited the base. “You’ve got the best timing. Was just about to call you,” Vincent said. “Got a favor I need.”

Bradford laughed. “Funny, I need the same. Shoot.”

“Ladies first,” Vincent said with a mock bow.

Bradford gave the other man the finger. “Always the charmer. Need the monthly supply drop – from any cell – within a week. Can you organize it?”

“Why can’t you just fly over and pick it up?" 

“Grounded while our wounded are in surgery.” Bradford shrugged. “I’m a shitty pilot. Don’t want to undo the doctor’s work.”

Vincent took up a mug of coffee, and drank. “It’ll be tough, John. ADVENT’s been scouring the valley lately.”

“You need us to pay a visit?” 

“Not yet. Don’t wanna draw attention to us, especially if Gemma…” Vincent drank. “But, I know something that could make it easier for me to get you your stuff.”

Bradford gestured for his old friend to speak.

“You know that Commander of yours?” Vincent said in an overly causal tone. “Our last meeting ended on a very bad foot. I’d like to rectify that. See, back in my young and wild days, my colleagues had a… an understanding, of sorts. Fifteen minutes, we called it. Fifteen minutes together, and we’d wipe out the debt. Your Commander - wait, no, she's not the Commander, you're giving me that look – well, she owes me something." 

The Central Officer’s smile began to fade. He hadn’t told anybody about the change in XCOM’s leadership, but somehow, _everybody_ knew. “Look, Vincent, if you can’t just get along–“

“It’s nothing serious. I know a few people who want to talk.” He raised his hand, forestalling any interruptions. “These people are the best I can get you. They can sneak past ADVENT. I can get these people on my side, we get the supply drop out, no problem.”

Bradford gritted his teeth. “I’m not sending the Commander out if there’s ADVENT around. It’s too much of a security risk. What else can I do?”

Vincent shrugged. “It’s not much I’m asking for.”

“I need fifty kilos of food, bandages and medicine. That’s not too much. You’re sitting on a military installation meant to store that,” Bradford said, barely restraining his frustration.

“John, I’m insulted. It sounds like you care more about your _Commander_ than your men.” Vincent’s coffee mug clinked against his desk. “Call back when you’re ready to make a deal, old friend.”

The videofeed dissolved into static.

The Central Officer stared at the empty screen. Vincent was asking for far too much. But if the other choice was keeping XCOM afloat…

 

A new message popped up on screen, using the Resistance Informant’s cipher. Bradford checked over the credentials – callsign Papillon, informant for three years, authorization Delta-Bravo-Tango…

He decoded the message.

_THE ALIENS KNOW A FACILITY WAS ATTACKED. THEY MOVE FAST. PROJECT AVATAR – SUSPECTED COMPLETION, TWO WEEKS. WILL END WORLD AS WE KNOW IT. ATTACK THAT BLACKSITE, AND FAST. – PAPILLON, OUT_

At the bottom of the message was a timer. XCOM had thirteen days, six hours, and 25 minutes before doomsday.

“Goddamn it, _another_ fucking alien project?” Bradford groaned.

 

* * *

 

Bradford went down to the bar. As the acting XCOM commander, he had a duty to his men, but at the moment, the weight on his shoulders was too much. He could finish up paperwork there. 

Normally, the bar would be packed right after a successful mission. But the sheer number of gravely injured meant most of XCOM’s soldiers were pulling double duty. Someone had to replace Agreste at the Hologlobe – someone had to fill in for Evora and Green in the kitchen – God, he needed to put out a call for more men. XCOM needed more people and supplies. And that meant having to run background checks…

Kelly sat alone at the counter. Bradford could barely hear the strains of “shot through the heart” pulsing through the floor upstairs. She sipped on a tumbler of dark liquid, possibly porter smuggled in from the last Resistance Haven XCOM had contacted. Beige bandages crisscrossed her bare torso, splotched with blood. They looked like ripped up sheets from the barracks. A thin jacket lay over her shoulders – it was of the same design as the Hologlobe crew’s.

“Should be resting up, Kelly,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “Make sure to return that jacket when you’re done.”

“AWC's pretty crowded, Commander.” Kelly shrugged, and winced. “We’re almost out of painkillers. Adler's conked outta his mind on them. Agreste told me to grab a drink instead.”

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbled as he pulled out his tablet. “I don’t want to be the damn Commander.”

Kelly stared at him. “You don’t?”

“I’m good at pulling strings, making sure you men don’t drink yourself stupid,” Bradford reached over, and knuckled the back of her head, “and getting us from point A to point B. Was my job, back in Pakistan. Field ops? Never my thing.”

The Irish Ranger patted her hair down. “I’d take you over Tangent, any day. And don’t go on that _before the war_ spiel. I just like having the enemy in my sights, not at my back.” Her shoulders suddenly hunched. “At least… I think I did.”

“All right, Kelly.” Bradford set down his tablet and sat next to her. “You’re not usually this chatty. What’s going on?”

“Can I trust you, sir?” she asked, suddenly sounding like a six-year old rather than a grown woman.

“I’m your damn Central Officer, not the ADVENT Speaker. Sure hope you can.”

The Ranger blew out a breath. “It’s just… What if I’m wrong?” Kelly stared at her glass. “What if I’m not fighting for the right thing?”

“Kelly, you’re going to have to speak without the riddles.”

The rotgut swirled in her glass, conjuring a sepia-tinted vortex in the center of the drink.

“Used to be so simple.” Kelly drank. “Meet aliens. Kill ‘em. See ADVENT flunkies. Interrogate em, then take ‘em out back and shoot ‘em. But… now we’ve got those girls, and they’re clearly more powerful than my machete’s ever gonna be.” She gestured at the Memorial Wall. “I’m… am I fighting the right enemy? Can I trust these girls? Can I trust, well, Tangent?”

Bradford rubbed his forehead. “Look, Kelly, if it’s an ethics lecture you want, get Dr. Tygan. Me… well, if it kicks the aliens offa this planet, I’m game.” He slammed a fist on the countertop. “I’m no Commander. I get things from point A to point B. No matter who’s in charge or who I’m cuddling up to, I’ll just do my best to get Earth back.”

Kelly rubbed her injured shoulder. “It’s just… is that the best that I can do? Blind hope?”

“Back in the old days, if you told me I’d be working with a member of EXALT,” Bradford said slowly, “I would’ve called Base Security on you. Now…” he spread his hands, suddenly feeling very insecure. “I do what I can. And in the end, when ADVENT’s gone and dead, it’ll be worth every sacrifice.”

“I’ve barely lived.” Kelly’s eyes had unfocused. “I wanted to see the Dublin my parents knew, I wanted to go to university, I wanted to have the pigs to make coddle… it sounds really good. Not that Christiano’s cooking is bad,” she said hastily, “but pork sausages, with sliced potatoes, and onions, and fatty bacon all sitting in a salted broth… instead of all these swamp plants and rat…”

Bradford shook his head and laughed. “Gotta say, I do miss steak. But we’ll find something. We might not get the old days back,” he shrugged, “but a good soldier will find a way to cope.”

“Am I a good soldier,” Kelly asked, still sounding so very small, “if I’m not sure that I want to die for this anymore?”

“Only natural,” Bradford said. “Nobody really wants to die.” _Well, unless they fucked up running four XCOMs in a row._ “But you just pick yourself up, and keep going. Nobody’s perfect, okay Kelly?” He gripped her uninjured shoulder. “None of us would be here if we were. So keep fighting, keep going, and we’ll see the end of the war. Got me?”

“Yes sir!” Kelly made to salute, and winced as blood spread across her bandages. “Hell, I think I tore something…”

“Show me the dressings,” he said, taking out his tablet. Kelly gingerly removed her jacket and offered up her shoulder. He scanned her injury. “Stitches tore. Back to the AWC with you, Kelly.” Bradford sent a message to the nearest tech to escort the Ranger.

“At least I’ve got the alcohol in me,” Kelly mumbled.

A twinge of guilt fluttered through his gut, like a moth drawn to a flame. _You could stop this_ , he thought, _if you let Vincent have a talk with the Commander._

Evora appeared in the bar doorway a few minutes later. “Hey, sweetie – sir,” he said hastily, and saluted. “I’ll escort Jane – Kelly – over.”

“I don’t need my da policing me,” Kelly grumbled as Bradford helped her up.

“You just ripped your stitches!” Evora wrapped an arm around Kelly’s waist and slung her good arm around his shoulders. “Jane, you can’t d–“

Bradford cleared his throat. “Evora? Save the lover’s quarrel for the AWC.”

“Thanks, Central.” Kelly smiled. “Yanno, the men miss drinking with you.”

Thirty minutes left. _When was the last time I had a chat with one of my men like this_? He wondered.

“I’ll keep that in mind, soldier. Off with you.”

 

> The Sectopod appeared at 01:23:98 after deployment. Commander Jian – referred to as ‘Tangent’ by the men – gave orders after Central had a ~~panic attack couldn’t breathe fucked up~~

He put his head in his hands and sighed. He was almost done the AAR, but how would he finish it? Commander Bradford. Biggest fuckup this side of the solar system. Good thing he had ten minutes until his shift was done. Then he could drink himself stupid.

XCOM’s Central Officer checked the Avenger’s network to see what the off-operatives had thought of the mission. After a mission was completed, the tapes were uploaded into the database, and any officer with clearance could access them to use as teaching materials.

Of course, his dumbass men managed to screw that up. 

“Number 258,” he read out on the newest entry of  _Things XCOM Operatives Are Not Allowed to Do._ “Lolspeak, gamer slang, chatspeak, gang slang and memes are not permitted during field operations. Your com-link is meant to inform your teammates of hazards and enemies, not endless shit-talking – scratch the last part.”

> 258A. While reviewing recordings of missions to improve combat tactics is commendable, creating clips labeled Play of the Games and Most Valuable Player is not.
> 
> 258B. The airhorns and MLG stickers are no longer funny. Stop it.
> 
> 258C. No, you can’t hire that Muton for crowd control on your next city center mission.
> 
> 258D. You’re professional soldiers: you don’t have time to “smoke weed every day.” 
> 
> 258E. Operation Silent Law was over six hours ago: stop playing “Shot Through the Heart” NOW.

Bradford’s tablet beeped, signaling the end of his shift. The Central Officer immediately reached under the bar and grabbed a beer.

He sat before the memorial wall, and drank. Thinking was easier with beer instead of blood in his veins. How soft, the world seemed, when clouded with alcohol.

 

Bradford leaned against the bartop and closed his eyes. Like this, it was easier to imagine a backyard with the barbecue hissing away, wafting sausage and pepper-tinged smoke his way. His niece Emily would be racing around, light blue Frozen dress whisking around her ankles, waving a spray gun and pretending it shot icicles instead of jets of water. His brother-in-law Mark would shield himself with the newspaper, and hoist his little girl onto his shoulders. His sister Kimberly would pull up in the sleek new Honda, her high heels clicking down the pavement.

“ _What did you do today, sweetie?_ ” Mark would ask after kissing Kimberly on the cheek.

“ _More meetings with stockholders._ ” She’d ball up the newspaper and lob it his way. “ _Seems like my army brat brother finally made it home_.”

“ _Your Marine brat brother looked after your kid for six hours,_ ” Bradford would reply, and then they would run to each other and she’d ask, “ _how long are you staying? Where are you going next? Are you hurt? Do you need anything? You don’t usually come home unless you need something._ ”

“ _A week, OPSEC_ , _no, and can’t I come home to see my family?_ ” Bradford would say, and his sister would shake her head and sigh.

(-fire, fire, burning bright – charred bodies buried under the ruins of the Bradford family home – the plasma rain had fused the blue sheer fabric to Emily’s skin–)

He could still hear Urist – no, no, her codename was Wildfire, he couldn’t get attached, not when he could still hear her screams. But Kelly missed drinking with him, and he barely knew XCOM’s newest recruits. It was a Central Officer’s job to consort with the men, not the Commander’s, but he wasn’t the Commander.

Bradford’s eyes snapped open. He drank deeply, until the screams and smoke were extinguished.

 

* * *

 

"May I intrude, sir?" the Commander asked from the doorway.

“Not like I’m doing much.” Bradford gestured to the bar, but his Commander took a military stance and stood by his side. “Oh, come on, sir. You outrank me.”

“Our men had their say.” A grim smile twisted her mouth. “I suggest putting Ruby to work in engineering while she recovers. Weiss could serve in science. “Yang on the field. Blake is a more difficult case. With your permission–”

He gestured at the Memorial Wall and the hopeful smiles of men he had failed. “Commander, you don’t have to ask. You know what to do.”

“I trust you, Commander.” She took a seat next to him. “You see things that I don’t.”

“Don’t call me that. I couldn’t see the rebellion in our ranks.”

The Commander reached under the bar for a beer. The cap knocked against the bartop, neatly popping the disk of red metal off.

“Blake has… more alien traits,” she said. “It would be dangerous to send her out to Havens without proper integration. Propaganda work, maybe. Her weapon’s chop-shop. Could also do engineering. The field would be best, but…”

Bradford sighed and took the bottle she proffered. “Out with it, sir. What’s going on?”

“I have been… thinking,” she said slowly, the syllables blurring together like water pooling on marble. “Have you heard of species conservation?”

“Commander, we were right next to Kansas State University. Would’ve had to been deaf and blind.”

“Ruby and her friends are the last living members of their kind.” The Commander bit her lip. “It does… it seems wrong to send them into the field when they–“

“Hang on. Are you saying you want to run a fucking Noah’s Ark for aliens?”

“Cryogenic freezing of cells,” she said, “so that they have the choice to have children.”

Bradford buried his head in his arms. _I am not drunk enough for this_. _I could use the buzz from three hours ago._

“With all due respect, sir – fucking seriously? Absolutely not.” He pointed his beer at her. “Do you – I can’t believe you would send our men to die for this, so that four aliens could _possibly_ have kids.”

“That was not my point.”

“Then what was?” He slammed the bottle down on the bar. “We’ve got next to zero supplies.” Bradford pointed in the general direction of the AWC. “We’ve used them all up on treating our wounded. If we want more, I have to give you _private time_ with Vincent. Our A team is out for a month at the very least. And that facility – that Blacksite – we have two weeks to shut that down, or the aliens win! There is another fucking project that we gotta deal with. We barely know anything about the Theoi, and now there's an Avatar Project! Those girls have unleashed monsters onto our world, and by God above, they will help us exterminate those creatures.”

“As you order, Commander Bradford,” she said.

“Thank God I’m in charge now,” he grumbled, “so you can’t send our men to die for pointless things.” He drank. “No wonder Kelly tried to kill you. Even I’m starting to wonder if we should have left you there to rot.”

The former Central Officer’s gaze traveled over the wall – fifty-seven names, all dead under his command, and Urist was sure to join them. Suddenly, Bradford wanted to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He cradled his head. “I don’t mean it, sir.”

She opened up her own beer. “In vino veritas.”

Bradford groaned. “I’m fucking drunk. Save Latin for later. English?”

His Commander raised an eyebrow. “In wine, truth. Alcohol only reveals that which you want to hide.” A placid smile rose to her lips. “I’ve had over thirty professional assassins try to kill me, sir. I’d be ashamed if you of all people managed the job.”

“What the hell did you do?” he asked.

“I… made many powerful enemies in my line of work. Rescuing refugees is not the most popular vocation.” The smile suddenly vanished, as she rubbed her chest. “I never thought I’d live this long. I put my money on Miska – he walked through the raindrops, but now everyone I knew is gone. And all I have left are those who’d seek to destroy what I built.”

“How did you meet?”

She made a pained noise. “I… don’t want to talk about that.”

“Don’t you trust me, Commander?”

“It’s… it’s a long, and very painful story.” She rubbed her side once again. “I’m sorry, Central, but I really don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You know, XCOM won’t wait for answers forever.” He drank. “Johnson-Pérez down there says you worked for EXALT.”

The Commander made a disgusted noise. “Of course he would.” Her knuckles whitened as she pressed them over her heart. “Men like him, never content to sit on the suffering of others–“

“In pain?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He mimed rubbing his chest, and then his side. The bullet wound from operation Gatecrasher still ached. “You either ran through poison ivy, or something opened up.”

“Just getting old,” she said quickly.

The alcohol led him down the rabbit hole. Bradford imagined his Commander on her deathbed, withered by old age – cheeks gaunt, eyes sunken, greyed skein of hair pressed against a protruding skull. She didn’t seem the type of woman to die in her bed, her loved ones holding her as she passed. It was far easier to imagine the flash of an IED, outlining her body as she broke apart like a fleshy bag – a clean dark hole in her head, letting brain matter spill out – a sightless head in a puddle of blood that stained the Avenger’s hangar, done in by her own men – there were so many ways for her to die in terrible pain.

“War flashbacks?” she asked.

The former Central Officer shook himself. Regret was bitter on his tongue. _If I knew you were dying, sir, and I had the chance to stop it… I would, no matter the cost. I couldn’t walk away, knowing that I would live and you would die_. _That's twenty years worth of sentimentality saving you._ _I have the chance to save Kelly from pain, keep Urist alive – sell you out to Vincent, and XCOM’s men stay safe. But I spent twenty damn years looking for you, and for what? What did that get me in the end? I’m no knight in shining armor._

It was a stupid sentiment, better suited to medieval fantasies than a guerrilla operation. 

“Nothing so dramatic.” He waved a hand at the Memorial wall. “Just… reasons to live, I guess.”

Her mouth twisted. “Never took you for the anti-suicide pact kind.”

“What? No.” The world swam as he reached for another beer to join the copious stack before him. “I just – need to forget, just for a moment –“

“Bradford.” The Commander set her hands on top of his. “I’ll let you get back to your drink in a moment.”

He stared. Had there always been a lattice of thin scars going over the back of her hands? He squinted – some of the scars looked suspiciously like Arabic words…

“You’re on alpha status to fly, Commander.” She tapped his knuckles, and his vision blurred. “Even this buzzed, we’re not going anywhere. I know that drinking might be preferable to me interrogating you,” she said, “but maybe we could–“

“Commander, I don’t need help.” He pushed away her hands. “Well, I do, but it’s tactical, not emotional, I don’t need a damn therapist–“

She sighed. “Would I suffice?”

“What?”

“Talk to me, John,” she said. “Not as a superior, or a subordinate. Like a friend.”

He wanted to hold his tongue. _What could happen?_ the alcohol whispered. _You're already a fuck up. Go see a counselor or something before you drag this XCOM down._

“We almost lost a lot of good men, trained men.” Bradford stared hard at the bottle in his hands. “Sent too many trained personnel out.”

“It was necessary,” the Commander said, “on a high-risk-reward mission such as this.”

“I froze up, sir. That almost got Wildfire killed. She’ll never hold a gun again, and I’m to blame.” He waved his hand in the direction of the AWC. “S’been a couple hours. Shen and Tygan are still working on Adler. Hell, he made it through BASIC – he made it through the invasion – and now he’s poisoned and one arm short because I fucked up.”

“I gave Adler an order, and he did not follow. It is unfortunate. But we can build him a new arm, try to give him a semblance of normality.” The Commander shrugged. “We have six in the AWC, four in isolation. Urist is stable. But she might not fight ever again.”

“You can say that again.” Bradford grimaced. “We barely have the supplies to keep her on life support.” He waved a hand. “At this point, I’m considering letting her die… It’s gonna be a tragedy, but at least… at least the others will live.”

The Commander studied the collection of bottles he had amassed before himself. “During the invasion,” she said slowly, “do you remember our _never leave a man behind_ policy?”

“How could I forget?” He laughed bitterly and gripped the side of the bar. “The only time we broke it was on that damnable Newfoundland investigation.”

“Some of our morale,” she said, “comes from the knowledge that dead or alive, we’ll do our best to bring you home. Urist is well liked. It could help morale to see her live.”

“We’ll have to do something about Adler as well. If his arm’s gone, he’s no use in the field.”

“He has an aptitude for ammo design,” the Commander mused, “at least, he understood the mechanism behind Ember Celica. Engineering.”

“We’re not chopping off any limbs this time around?” Bradford asked.

“ _I’ll have you know that it was very advantageous for our PR department,_ ” Old Shen said, his voice echoing slightly. " _Who better than an armored superhero to spread hope?"_

“MECs aren’t suited for the type of warfare – oh, you were joking.”

Bradford shook his head. “I just don’t know who to trust, Commander. What can I do? Everything I could do will end up getting someone killed.” He pulled out his tablet. “And now we’re on a deadline. We have to assault that Blacksite within thirteen days, or ADVENT wins. Something about an Avatar Project.”

“And our A-Team’s out of commission, unless we get the supplies for them to heal.”

“We're fucked.” He drank again, and flicked through the new messages. “And now Ru needs us to ship more vitamin tablets. She’s located near the Ghelari iron mine. We could use the extra metal if Vincent won’t get his head outta his ass.”

The Commander suddenly tensed. “That reminds me. Rengel and Ru can never meet.”

“Odd order, but okay.” The Central Officer turned off his tablet. “Mind filling me in?”

“Do you know what Rengel did before the war?" 

“Oh boy, story time. Shipping,” he said with a shrug, “a bit of a magnate the way he tells it. That’s how he gets the supply drops to us.”

“Very close.” The Commander took Kelly’s abandoned glass and began to clean it. “Ru is a North Korean refugee. I helped her get to the EU.”

“JP said something about that. You’re former EXALT. You’ve got a hand in every government, created a bunch of wars, that sort of thing.”

“That… is not half the story. I’ve sucked political cock to cross borders,” the Commander said dryly. The rag squeaked across the glass’s rim. “But I’ve never started a war, and I don’t intend to. Humanitarian aid in war zones… that I tried. Not my thing. Too much grey.”

“Sounds like the refugee thing worked out pretty good for Ru.”

“I hope it did.” The Commander kept drying the glass. “You can’t usually get out by China, because they ship refugees back. You can try the Russia route, but it’s risky, and far too cold. Best route I found was by sea to South Korea.” Her mouth twisted. “And that’s how I met Rengel. He was in the same dirty trade… I ended up having to rescue people from him.”

“Wait. Are you saying Vincent’s a human smuggler?”

“And sex trade. Happens to a lot of refugees. They find the wrong person to help. Made sure all my rescues could recognize men who would sell them, and Rengel was one of them.” The Commander shook her head. “I’m not asking you to take sides, Bradford. For all I know, Rengel’s a different man. He probably never met Ru, but I’m not risking it.”

Bradford looked at the memorial wall. He thought of Old Shen – surely, that calm, collected man would know what to do. But there was silence. _The Commander could be lying to me to save her own skin_ , he thought. _But what if she’s telling the truth? Vincent could end up killing her, and XCOM’ll lose their tactician. I need someone to cover for me if I fuck up.  
_

“The Menace team needs help now,” he said. “But…”

“I would prefer not to be handed over,” his Commander said, “but if it’s for the men, do what you must.” She stood. “I should go talk to Ruby and the rest. Have a good night, Commander Bradford.”

Bradford solved his conflicting emotions the only way he knew how: with copious amounts of alcohol.

 

* * *

 

Other soldiers came in to join him. It seemed the Menace team had cleaned out the Avenger’s entire stock of painkillers. Alcohol – and stupid jokes – would have to suffice. 

“Back in my day,” he said, waving an empty bottle, “we didn’t have no fancy Skulljacks. We shocked those aliens good! With hi-tech tasers! And by God, we did our best!”

“Sir, we lost seven operatives to live captures.” Odinson drank deeply. “Just rookies, but still.”

Bradford pointed the bottle at Odinson. “Every rookie’s precious, Captain! Ev’ry,” he hiccupped, “ev’ry taa-taa’s good for soakin’ bullets!”

“Sir, I thought you told us not to call rookies Tactical Ablative Armor.”

“Sprayin’ bullet. Sprayin.” Bradford shook his head. “Only good alien’s a dead one. That’s the good old way.”

“How d’you feel ‘bout close range, sir?” Fleury asked, voice muffled by her sleeves. She pulled new hire Novik closer. “Don’ worry ‘bout Central. Hezza sad drunk.”

“Not sad. Good drunk!” Bradford laughed. “Dr’wn soh – sorrows in beer, run from my fucking problems–“

“We gotta do something about you, sir,” Teuku said. “Maybe an intervention?”

Yoshida waved her fellow soldier off. “Iz A-OK. He’ll…” Her head slumped onto the counter. “S-shober up. Always knows… whatta do…”

If he weren't as drunk, Bradford would have felt acutely more guilty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omitted from this chapter: Bradford ranting about his sweater's comfiness compared to his current gear, and complaining about Van Doorn.
> 
> OPERATION: Silent Law  
> Assault the Remnant Facility in the wilds of Siberia  
> Soldiers deployed  
> \- Brick (Cpt. Odinson), squad leader = Ranger, INJURED = 17 days  
> \- Akira (Lt.. Yoshida), Specialist, INJURED = 15 days  
> \- Harp Seal (Lt. Adler), Sharpshooter, GRAVELY WOUNDED = 30 days  
> \- No Dice (Sgt. Kelly), Ranger, INJURED = 12 days  
> \- Wildfire (Sgt. Urist), Grenadier, GRAVELY WOUNDED = 80 days  
> \- Zero (Sgt. Devgan), Specialist, INJURED = 9 days  
> \- Xiao Long (promotion to Corporal), Grenadier = INJURED = 7 days
> 
> Next chapter: RWBY joins the ship's crew! Viper venom extraction, go!


	19. Alkalurops Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RWBY adjusts to life on this new planet. 
> 
> Meanwhile, have you heard that the aliens are making progress on the Avatar Project?

“-looooow battery.” Yang collapsed back on her bunk in the decontamination chamber. Sparks died out on her bare arms. “I can’t do it. I’ve got Aura, but not enough to do the world-healing wave.”

“Maybe you need a trigger,” Ruby said, “like when you got out of the lime light!”

“Whoopee.” Yang flung her arms out and stared up at the bleak ceiling. “I’ve always wanted to remember the worst moment of my life. Well, besides the whole abduction thing, and Uncle Qrow…”

Out of the corner of Yang's eye, she watched her younger sister's face grow grim. Ruby was re-reading the lists on Yang's side of the decon chamber.  Names – scrawled in Ruby’s messy handwriting, Blake’s neat script, and Weiss’s elegant scrolls – covered most of the west wall. Coco and Uncle Qrow, dead for sure. Pyrrha and Neptune – names on the Theoi project provided by Mu Lan and Central – still missing… All their peers and friends: blown to ash, or possessed by Grimm, or simply lost in a limbo between Remnant and Earth.

Her younger sister hugged her. “We’ve got each other, and we’re gonna pull through. Though I really wish they didn’t take my cloak and Crescent Rose…”

“It’s for a good cause,” Weiss said. “The faster we defeat XCOM’s enemy, the faster we can get home… if Remnant still exists.”

Ruby’s face fell, hands searching for a cloak that was no longer on her shoulders. Yang squeezed her younger sister’s hands. The cloak was a gift from the reaper's mother – and Yang’s stepmother – and the scythe-sniper rifle was built with Uncle Qrow’s help. Yang thought of her gauntlets, sitting on Shen’s workbench, the last remnant of her father’s handiwork. Summer Rose lay resting in a cliffside grave in Patch. There would be no way for Ruby to complete her yearly pilgrimage to her mother's grave, and now there were more names: Uncle Qrow, Coco, Neon Katt…

 _I hope he’s alive_ , she thought, but hope rode so often alone. 

“At least you have both arms.” Blake’s ears twitched from beneath a scrap of black cloth. The Cat Faunus wound a long lock of black hair around her fingers. “I’m not looking forward to more people finding out about…”

Yang sat up and patted her partner’s back. “My teammates are jerks, yeah, but they won’t try to cut off your ears!”

“I’d rather not risk it,” Blake said.

“You do you, Blakey.” The golden brawler gripped the dark-haired girl's shoulder.  “Any luck, Ruby?”

Ruby pouted at the pot of soil in the center of the decon chamber. “I want a stupid tree to grow. I thought it could happen, but it’s not gonna.”

The group looked at Blake. Blake briefly summoned a Shadow Clone, who sped around the room, then disappeared into black mist.

“That’s all I can do,” Yang’s partner said. “If you guys have the power of the seasons, then I’m missing out.”

“I’ll have to look through Mu Lan’s notes again,” Weiss mused as she concentrated on her hands. “There might be something about our powers…”

A glyph grew on the isolation room’s floor: swords and small birds danced along the snowflake-patterned circle. A tiny sword appeared from the center of the glyph. Weiss blew out a breath, and the sword dissipated.

“It just feels so familiar.” The Heiress felt the bandages at her side. Three days after their rescue, Weiss’s Aura was mending her wounds, but there was still a noticeable raw area weeping pus under her ribcage. “I know I’ve done this before.”

“So Angelis, Daimones and Tinia most likely stole our memories.” Blake sighed. “Out of all the things I thought I’d lose, I never thought it would be my mind.”

Yang looked at her partner. She thought of times she had kissed those plump cheeks, or wound her fingers through locks as black as fresh ink. Did they really happen, or was she just fantasizing? All the evidence seemed to point to the former… but Blake didn’t seem to feel the same way.

“This could be a new start,” Ruby said, popping to her feet. Although her cape was still in the wash, a swirl of Aura-created rose petals leaked from the diminutive girl. “Something terrible happened to us. And yeah, we’re not the same as we were before. We’re probably never gonna go back to Remnant.”

“Sis, your pep-talks suck,” Yang said. “And I’ve heard Dr. Tygan's idea of bedside manner.”

Ruby bopped her sister on the nose. “Nuh-uh-uh! Not done talking yet! So we, team RWBY, are probably the last Remnants left!”

“I’m gonna agree with your sister for once,” Weiss said.

“Guys, let Ruby have her moment,” Blake said.

“Thank you!” Ruby gave Blake the double-thumbs up. “What I’m saying is that those purple butts thought they could mess with us and get away with it. They probably messed with XCOM too. But they didn’t know we were Huntresses.”

“Um, Ruby, they probably took our memories.”

“Not you too!” Ruby stamped her foot. “Look. We’re Huntresses. We trained to protect the weak, save the people, and make wrongs right. Isn’t that what we could do now? Yeah, we might never see our homes again, but this is all we’ve got. And maybe one day,” she said, gripping her teammates around the shoulders, “we’ll see Remnant again. But until then, we’re gonna make the aliens rue the day they ever messed with team RWBY.”

Silence hovered over the room, as Ruby looked each teammate in the eyes.

“If you’re in,” Weiss said, “I have no choice but to keep my partner out of trouble.”

Blake smiled at Yang. “And if you’re here, I’m right behind you.”

The girls embraced.

They were acutely aware of the loneliness pressing in on them.

 

* * *

 

“You are Weiss Schnee?” A day after her release from quarantine, the unfamiliar voice temporarily spooked Weiss. The Heiress closed up the (very heavy) book of lab safety procedures with nitrile-gloved hands. Dr. Tygan continued on. “Your station is at the back, past the microscopes and decontamination chambers. You’ll find all the equipment you need there.”

Weiss noticed an oblong drawer labeled, QROW – PRIORITY INVESTIGATION – near her thigh. She quickly moved towards the table with a partially dissected snake-human Viper on it. Even with its thoracic cavity, gaping like a slack jaw, it was less disturbing than the thought of the resurrected uncle of her Hunting partner. With senses finely tuned to Dust and Aura, honed by the best of tutors, Weiss reached out. She felt no Aura residing in the drawer: Qrow was definitely dead.

“Thank you, Dr. Tygan," she said, regaining her composure.  _Chin up, shoulders back, left foot forward._ "Where should I start?”

Tygan slid his ID along a cabinet, and withdrew a vial of red Fire Dust from the array of test tubes within. “I have thrown all of my considerable biochemical knowledge at this Dust,” he said, “but this substance still eludes me. The Commander tells me you were the Heiress to the company that mined this Dust. We want to be able to replicate it eventually. For now, we would like to know what it is made of and how it comes about.”

She studied the vial of Dust. Somehow, the crystals seemed dull and unhealthy. _It could be that Dust only works on Remnant_ , Weiss mused, _any attempts at spaceflight with Dust-powered engines failed miserably. But Yang was able to use her gauntlets. That probably isn't the case._

“Even on my planet,” Weiss said, holding the vial up to the light, “we haven’t quite mastered synthetic production. I wouldn’t be surprised if my father–“ She quickly closed her mouth.

Judging by Dr. Tygan’s look, he had guessed.

“Before the war, I worked in the pharmaceutical industry. Drugs, treatments, antibiotics,” he added at her confused look. “It was… well, I am not proud of what my superiors did to bring in profit.”

“That sounds like the Schnee Dust Company,” Weiss sighed. She walked towards her station, ideas already buzzing away in her head. “Thanks, Dr. Tygan. I’ll do my best to get you results.”

“I look forward to it.” The doctor’s attention had returned to the skinned torso of the snake-human. “If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer.”

“ _Hmm. He doesn’t seem as stand-offish as Yang said_ ,” Weiss thought as she took a seat at the isolated chamber. She carefully measured 0.500 g of the Fire Dust on a weigh boat, then sent it into the chamber. “ _Maybe I can make something out of my family name here.”_

 

* * *

 

“Fuck off, sir,” Adler said, turning away from Bradford. The newly de-armed man flopped onto the AWC cot as his body tried to compensate for the lack of arm. It was as far as the Sharpshooter could go without phasing through the wall of the isolation room, now turned suicide watch chamber. “Either I’m out killing aliens, or I’m gonna off myself.”

Bradford restrained a sigh. The room was bare and depressing: there were no sheets on the hard cot, no color beyond the stark white of the incandescent lights and the light grey of the walls… no wonder Adler wasn't improving. "I know it’s difficult, Adler. But you’re in no shape to be fighting aliens–“

“It’s your fault I’ve lost my damn arm in the first place, _Commander_.” If looks could kill, Bradford would have been flayed alive. “Fuck you, and fuck off.”

“You could speak to Agreste,” Bradford offered, “if you needed someone to talk, or even Tangent –“

“I’m not dealing with either of you unless I’m killing ayys.” Adler buried his face in the pillow. “Fuck off.”

Bradford left the room, shaking his head. Nine days until the god-forsaken Avatar Project completed, and XCOM was short its A-Team and trust in its Command.

He had to bring them back together. It was his duty to XCOM.

 

* * *

“And those are the stripper poles–“

RBY stared at Braun.

Blake side-eyed Yang. _Is this what we signed up for?_

“That’s not what you told me the first time around, Lukas,” Yang said flatly. “Unless the Avenger took a _that’s XCOM, baby_ turn since my last mission.”

Ruby fidgeted in her boots. “Do we have to…?”

“I lied, Blondie.” Braun stepped onto the platform and grabbed hold of a pole. “Give it a whirl. It’s our best way to distract ADVENT! Everybody loves a dancer." The Sniper swung around the pole, barely avoiding a head-on collision with the other poles. "Just listen to the ADVENT Officers call for _mor balaten!_ ”

“He’s - fucking - around!” Fleury called from the treadmills in between pants. “It’s – strength - training!”

“Somehow, that fails to make it better.” Blake tested one pole – it was three times as thick as her forearm. She tapped it. It rang, hollow as a bell. Out of the corner of her eye suddenly noticed the busts of humanoid Sectoids in the corner, glaring at the group, and the pole snaking along the ceiling over to the busts. “Is this a… wait, is this a gutter pipe?”

“All right. It’s actually climbing practice. You gotta be able to climb up this to go on Slums missions.” Braun pointed to the back of the Guerilla Training School, which featured a climbing wall dotted with curved chunks of stone that spanned its length. “That’s beginner. Advanced is climbing up the Hangar wall. Pass that, and you can go on City missions. Can’t do it? Then you get Wilds missions only.”

“Do we get to play with our weapons yet?” Ruby asked. “Because I kinda miss Crescent Rose, and ooh, I could make you guys fancy stuff if–“

“Hold on there, squirt.” Braun clapped the younger girl on the back. “You gotta run that by Shen and the Commander once you get to Engineering.” The Sniper jabbed his thumb at the doorway to the Guerilla Training School. “Look, I gotta drop you kids off to the Living Quarters later. Why don’t we swing by the Armory and get you combat ready?”

Blake suddenly thought of a red-haired android.

 _What happened to Penny?_ She could still see the dislocated and disarticulated parts of her android friend’s body scattered across the Coliseum floor. _Did the aliens get her too_?

 

* * *

 

After cooing over the weapons in the armory, Ruby went down to Engineering. Chief Shen was huddled over a bench, the contents of something called a Medkit scattered over her workspace. A GREMLIN hovered over her shoulder, occasionally bringing new implements as the Engineer asked.

After a few minutes of standing at the door, Ruby coughed.

“What are you waiting for?” Shen’s attention never left the medkit. “Your weapon’s in the back. Take it apart, scan it, and figure out how to make XCOM’s guns hit harder.”

Ruby recoiled. “Uh, okay. You sure you don’t need any help?” she asked, pointing at the disassembled parts. “I could probably–“

“I need this done now,” the Chief replied, “and if you haven’t noticed, there are people dying in the AWC. You can help by making sure XCOM can kill more aliens.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Ruby said nervously, and nearly bolted to the worktable with her beloved weapon.

Engineering was quiet, but for the humming of the GREMLIN’s engines. Engineers would occasionally come in to get supplies, or check instruments, but they never stayed for long. Ruby felt their glares on her back – hostile, prickling her skin just like a Grimm’s presence. It was raw distaste and dislike aimed at her.

“Oh, baby,” she said, stroking her scythe’s blade, “I wish we could all just get along. But I’m gonna make things better. I just have to.”

 

* * *

 

Bradford hauled in the last cart of iron ore. He passed by each crates in the Avenger’s hull: fourteen crates of iron of varying grades; three caches totaling 20 kg of alien alloys, scavenged from a downed UFO; six crates of assorted bits of armor stripped from dead ADVENT soldiers; five crates totaling twenty-kilos worth of vitamins, bandages, and raw herbs… Yes, everything was accounted for.

He popped over to the Avenger’s open hanger to give the leader of the Romanian Cell the thumb’s up. “Thanks for the supplies, Ru. Drive safe.”

Ru waved back to him. “Anything for Miruna. _Annyeong-hi jumuseyo,_ and vigilo confido!”

She motioned to her followers, who got into their trucks. The convoy tore off into safety of twilit hills shadowed by towering beech trees.

“This should be enough for the Plated Armor project,” the Commander said, grunting as she dragged the cart towards the Engineering lift. “Although perhaps we should prioritize the creation of a new arm for Adler–“

Bradford sighed. “Sir, the Aliens continue to make progress on the Avatar project. They’re almost _done_ , and we’re here, just–“

“Creating new weapons for our soldiers.” The Commander – no, Tangent, popular vote had decided she was Tangent now, but he didn't really want to call the person he had sought for twenty years someone else's codename – shoved the cart onto the lift. It sank silently below-decks. “We are arming them for a difficult fight.”

“Eight days, sir.” Bradford joined her in shuffling crates over to the lift. “ _Eight._ ”

“I’m keeping it in mind, Central.” The Commander wrenched the top off another crate. She made a pleased noise. “Ahh. Ru came through.”

“I don’t need a damn smuggling ring to deal with, sir.” Bradford stalked over. “And you don’t need to drag your name through the mud anymore.”

She carefully unwrapped a series of bottles, then held one out to him. He uncorked it. It was undeniably vodka, and good vodka – unlike the swill Fleury had tried to brew - at that.

“If Rengel will not give us supplies,” she said, “then at least we will have painkillers.”

 _Don’t drink this_ , he told himself, _you need to think! Stop it. You’re not addicted. Stop – stop thinking about drinking this._

The pleased smile fell off the Commander’s face. She popped the cork back into the bottle. With the smell of alcohol gone, Bradford could breathe easier.

“That was thoughtless of me,” she said. “I’m sorry, Central, I should have remembered.”

Bradford set the bottle back in the crate. “You’ll have to come to a decision soon, sir. I won’t throw you under the bus, but we really need those supplies.”

The pleased smile fell off her face. “I know, Commander. Rest assured. Whatever you do, I will follow your orders.”

“That’s my line,” he grumbled.

He thought of Urist, suspended between life and death in the AWC, and the others of the Menace Team, in terrible pain despite Tygan’s best efforts. He looked at the Commander – whatever Rengel planned was probably not a nice chat and a cup of coffee. No good soldier would ever sell out his commanding officer.

 _What am I supposed to do?_ Bradford wondered as he picked up the crate of alcohol. The Bar and Memorial needed its stocks refilled. That, at least, he could do.

 

* * *

 

“-terribly rude of me. Five days since your arrival and I still haven’t eaten with you.” Mu Lan passed the tureen of wax-covered apples around the table. At 21:00 hours – _they use military time, how quaint_ , Blake thought – the mess hall was chock full of soldiers. Team RWBY had chosen a corner, close to the bread station – tonight was cattail-flour rolls topped with feathery clusters of purple flowers Mu Lan called _kragal luk._ “How are you settling in?”

“As well as we can. I do miss having paper books.” Blake took a roll. “Although I’m surprised that you survive on such a low protein diet. With all the activity the soldiers do, I’d expect a lot more meat – it’s higher in calories.” She shrugged at her teammates. “The White Fang found it easier to hunt than to gather.”

“I didn’t think you were a dietician,” Weiss said.

“Me neither. It was just something I picked up along the way.” Blake stared down at the chunks of fish floating in her soup. “I was one of the… our group’s hunters. We had bad nights when I couldn’t catch anything.”

“You would be right. I’ll get something to you later, Blake.” Mu Lan dipped her bread into the pale soup before her. “As far as I’m aware, to cripple survivors outside the cities, ADVENT killed off all domesticated animals and most megafauna – large animals. Like elephants, or wolves.” Mu Lan was silent. “Miska would throw a fit. The environment cannot survive without balance. I…”

“Who’s Miska?” Ruby asked. “Is he- she? One of the scientists?”

Mu Lan shook her head. “I digress. ADVENT said the cull would stop the spread of some sort of plague. I’m not aware of any plague, but that’s the reason we don’t have any meat besides insect and fish.”

“I’m just happy to have solid food,” Weiss said. “I don’t think I was fed the entire time I was in that tank.”

“Me neither,” Yang said. “I could almost see these babies wasting away.” She patted her biceps. “I’m glad I’m back to normal now.”

“Is there anything you miss? Perhaps we could acquire it. You would have to fill out a few forms though,” Mu Lan said with a grin. “We thrive on bureaucracy.”

“I miss cookies and milk.” Ruby  prodded the applesauce in the bowl before her. “I know that’s really petty and all, but I could use some sugar, and I’m kinda sad I’m not getting any.”

“No cows around, Rubes.” Yang knuckled her sister’s head, and stole a side-glance at Mu Lan.

“Chocolate production is quite intensive,” Mu Lan said, “but who knows? Maybe we’ll raid a drugstore and find some. It might be a good bonding exercise for your team and XCOM’s soldiers.”

Blake stole a look across the room. Central was staring back at her – brow furrowed, hostile eyes – _why does he look like he hates me? I haven’t done anything,_ she wondered. When he caught her glance, he kept staring until she ducked her head.

“That’ll be the day,” the Cat Faunus said, keeping her hands on her bread and bowl. “When I get the feeling people are less likely to stab me…”

Mu Lan lowered her voice. “You know that my planet has been subjugated for the past twenty years by aliens. They have suffered greatly. It will take time for wounds to heal. As the head of the Remnants Operatives, I want you all in bed by 20 hours tonight, as we will be flying to…” Mu Lan checked her tablet, and went pale.

“Is everything all right, Mu Lan?” Ruby asked.

“Um, sis, I think it’s Tangent now…” Yang said, but she looked equally concerned. “Can we help?”

Blake recognized that look. It was the same of a trapped animal, paw caught in a snare, watching the hunter’s machete descend upon its neck.

“We will fly to Saudi Arabia,” Mu Lan said, smoothing out the tremors in her voice, “to liaison there. That is something very important. Now, I understand some of your powers are on cooldown.”

“It kinda sucks,” Yang said, “maybe I just need more food. I'd like to do the world-healing wave again.”

“This is not a joking matter, Xiao Long. While we are there, your Aura is to be practiced only inside the Avenger.” Mu Lan’s eyes had glazed over. “Saudi Arabia used to have the death penalty for witchcraft. Your Aura may very well count as such.” She shook herself. “I don’t know if it is the same these days. Best to be careful.”

Blake shuddered. She looked around the room. XCOM might have been home to Yang, but it was not so for her partner, and it might not be one at all for Remnant’s last girls.

 

* * *

 

Ruby stared up at the ceiling. Like her dorm room back on Remnant, she had a bunk bed, but this one was securely nestled in the wall instead of precariously strung up by ropes, and these wine-red curtains blacked out any light. Below her, Weiss was sleeping.

Blake had been assigned a bunk to their left. Yang’s cubby was below Blake’s and already decorated with faded pictures, probably scavenged from old and waterlogged magazines. The rest of RWBY’s had fairly plain bunks with nothing more than a comforter, a pillow, and an extra blanket.

Team RWBY’s leader could hear the Cat Faunus shuffling around in her bed, probably reading one of the books Mu Lan had lent her. Outside their little corner, XCOM’s other soldiers snored or wept or talked in pained whispers.

“Blake? You still awake?” the red-cloaked reaper finally asked.

“…I couldn’t sleep,” the Cat Faunus admitted.

“You don’t seem happy about being here,” Ruby said.

“…I wanted to be accepted somewhere, Ruby,” Blake responded. “I thought, maybe here, but even in these books…”

“Whatcha reading?”

“ _To Kill a Mockingbird_. It's… about a young girl, who lives a good life, who doesn’t really see the imperfections in her society, and how… how broken it is.” Blake was silent for a while. “It reminds me of Remnant. It’s rather depressing, really. Perhaps I’ll start on the Orphic Mysteries.”

“Maybe there are cycles,” Ruby said, “we have to get through step one before we can get to the next point.”

“Cycles imply we return back to where we started.” Blake sighed. “I’ve never wanted to die for anything, Ruby. I don’t want to die for this.”

“Well… we won’t,” Ruby said. “We’re good at what we do.”

Blake blew out a breath. “I’m starting to remember a little more, Ruby. I think I know why you, Weiss, and Yang have all these powers. It’s… It’s faint, but I remember something about Spring, Winter and Summer Maidens all being real…”

“Just like the story Yang used to tell me.” Ruby shuffled on her bunk. “The Four Maidens. But weren’t there four? Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall?”

“If we are the last four living Remnant women…” Blake said slowly, “then I should be Fall. But I’m not. Pyrrha was.”

“How do you–“

“Jaune told us. When we – something about this toxic crystal land. Before that fight. Pyrrha was to be the Fall Maiden. But… let’s say I’m not the Fall Maiden. Maiden powers can’t pass unless the previous wielder is dead.”

Ruby absorbed the thought.

“You mean…”

“It’s possible Pyrrha is still alive,” Blake said. “Possible.”

The engines purred far below their bunks, as the Avenger took flight.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t take his eyes off the Elder in the room. Its red robes fluttered in an unseen wind. Purple psionic energy gathered in its many hands. The Commander was kneeling before it, restrained by a tendril of psionic energy between the two. The Elder let loose. Suddenly, the Commander was disintegrating: corruption spread down her cheeks, blackening skin until it was the color of her hair – lips bound in a skeleton’s grimace – muscles unraveled like yarn from its spool – Bradford was frozen in place–

Then the Elder – and his rotting Commander – disappeared.

Bradford shot off the mess hall bench. His thighs banged against the table.

No, the Elder and his Commander weren’t real.

 _Just a dream,_ he told himself, centering on the pain, _just a dream, you're tired, the two hours on the frosty Bridge froze your brain, you can stop that from ever happening–_

“ _You have got to stop drinking_ ,” he thought he heard Old Shen sigh.

Bradford grabbed the half-empty bottle of vodka on the table and took a swig. He could've had the half-filled cup of coffee instead, but at that moment, he needed alcohol like air. His hands stopped shaking long enough for him to turn on his tablet.

12 AM Saudi Arabia Time, 3 AM UTC.

The Avenger was on the outskirts of radioactivity-ridden Riyadh, far away from the Blacksite on the Kazakhstan Steppes. They would have to install a radio relay here, to gain the continental bonus for Europe, and dispose of Johnson-Pérez. At least, the Commander would. The night shift was hers.

The Commander herself came into the mess hall. Upon seeing him, she made a beeline to his side.

“Sir! Is everything all right?” The Commander capped the bottle of vodka. “You’re never late in waking me.”

Bradford opened his mouth, then closed it. He was going crazy. If the Commander knew – XCOM mutiny or not, veteran of the old war – she would remove him from active duty. He would stop drinking. He had to be there for his superior.

( _or really, have her back him up - XCOM might follow Commander Bradford, but he never wanted these chains, he was never a leader like this._ )

“Seven days left before the Aliens finish the Avatar Project,” Bradford warned his Commander. “Get Langlade, Agreste and Jung ready to build a Coms Relay over at the Resistance Cell. They should finish by dawn – it’s too dangerous out there during the day. If - if Xiao Long and Belladonna are awake, make sure they get some combat training.”

“It will be done, sir.” She set a hand on his shoulder. “Please, get some rest.”

Bradford went through the chores one last time. Rose had been assigned to the night shift in Engineering with Shen – they were finishing up the Nanomedkit; Shen’s engineers were projected to finish the Plated Armor project in nine days; Engineers Provenza and Chastain were clearing out debris on the third floor of the Avenger; Dr. Foquiny was assisting Tygan in Psionics research, projected completion date in ten days; Dr. Ortiz was tied up in the AWC with the mauled A-Team, and here Bradford was, motionless imagining his Commander being killed. XCOM needed more time, and they were all out.

“I know, Central,” the Commander said before he could protest. A light blue haze settled over his vision. “Please. Get some sleep. I have everything under control.”

“I’ve made notes on a B-Team,” he managed to say, “for the Blacksite Assault. Don't have our A-team… but they should do.”

“Consider it done.” She took his abandoned mug of coffee and began to scan her tablet. "Good night, sir. Rest well."

The Central Officer nodded, and lumbered out of the Mess Hall. The pleasant haze around his head had banished all images of a rotting superior and an Elder standing triumphant from his brain.

 

* * *

 

Ruby was starting to doubt that Shen ever slept - the other woman seemed to be an automaton who lived to tinker with machines and design weapons. After being dragged out of bed (five hours of sleep? Really? Ruby wanted her beauty sleep), Ruby was now in Engineering, trying to apply the smoothing technology in Crescent Rose's barrel to XCOM's magnetic weaponry. It would be difficult without Dust forging, but if the same rules of physics applied to Remnant as they did to Earth, the red-cloaked reaper was sure she could create weapons of mass destruction.

“Rose, get over here,” Shen said, wrenching the venom sac from the dissected Viper before her. The other woman's GREMLIN buzzed around her shoulders. “I need a hand getting the venom out.”

Ruby looked around for something like a turkey baster. “So… uh… how?”

Shen poked the venom sac with a blunt probe. The plating held firm, but Ruby could faintly see the bulbous gland jiggling beneath the striated bands of muscle. Ruby thought of her sister running, shuddered, and then resolved to ask Dr. Tygan if something like brain bleach existed.

“We’ll have to get through the muscle.” Shen waved a hand at the hypodermic needles scattered on the table. “These are no good, the tips break off.”

“Could we beat it out?”

"Someone has to hold it down." Shen picked up a ball-peen hammer from the toolbox. “You first, or me?”

 

* * *

 

Eight hours later on her third day – well, night – in the lab, Weiss was no closer to unlocking the secrets of Dust than she was returning to Remnant. No matter what she did, the Dust seemed to behave exactly as she remembered: it was extremely volatile, prone to blowing up at the slightest provocation, and unreplicatable.

She had ground up several samples of ADVENT armor. To her surprise, the powder reacted faintly like Dust: it vibrated when touched with Aura, but did not display any of Dust’s volatile qualities. The alteration probably explained why ADVENT’s armor was weaker than any of the Huntress’ clothing: it had been chemically changed, and lost some of its best properties. Poor forging techniques had further worsened the armor. ADVENT had probably stolen the Schnee Dust Company’s records and mauled the research. What Weiss wouldn’t do for her birthright now.

Her only consolation was that ADVENT hadn't mastered the art of Dust incorporation into living bodies. An object didn't require a soul for fusion to Dust: depending on the skill of the worker, the matter would gain some qualities of the Dust. A living being, on the other hand, needed a soul to activate Dust's ancient power.

The only thing she had to show after her labor were her transcripts of Dust forging and internalization within a body, recited from briefings at the SDC headquarters. She hoped that Ruby and Chief Engineer Shen could somehow make something out of her ramblings. Dust-infused armor was stronger than the best bullet-proof armor, but Weiss had a feeling her new coworkers would be more interested in its offensive capabilities. She sniffed. There was an art to Dust. She was the last artisan, and she had to do the craft justice.

After the sixteenth sample of Dust refused to recrystallize, Weiss opened up her tablet and flipped through the science records. Dr. Tygan was a verbose writer, but he described what he did know well, and when he didn’t, Chief Engineer Shen usually chipped in.

“ _…inert in any terrestrial operative’s presence, but extremely reactive on Remnant operative Xiao Long’s person_.” Weiss tapped the screen. “There’s all these notes about _psionics_ , but almost nothing on Aura. Small sample size, to be sure – only Yang, and the twenty corpses brought onboard. They did cover a good range of age, sex and Faunus. Hmm… it could be that Aura and psionics don’t originate–“

“–Although I would expect to be more accustomed to seeing the clear intermingling of both human and alien genetic material, I must admit, this reptilian creature with such distinctive human features is surprisingly unsettling. Invasion-era reports include references to a species with some reptilian qualities, but nothing as readily apparent as this. I could not foresee the results of these experiments,” Dr. Tygan said from halfway across the lab. He had said the exact same thing less than five minutes ago. Weiss looked up, and caught Central in the middle of rolling his eyes. “Though they are intriguing.”

“I’ll be sure to inform Tangent. Thank you, Dr. Tygan. Research Psionics, God knows we need them.” Central marched out of the labs, his tablet securely clipped to his belt.

Dr. Tygan shook his head at the Commander’s retreating back, and began pulling out climate-controlled drawers. Condensation rolled down the floor. “We barely have the resources necessary, and it is far too great a risk to capture a live specimen–“

“Something wrong, Dr. Tygan?” Weiss asked, going to his side. “Maybe I could be of assistance. I did spend much time with Angelis and Daimones.”

“Ah yes. The psionic presences,” Tygan said without enthusiasm. He stared at the Sectoid corpse, long and gangly limbs curled up like those of a dead spider’s. “I will do fine. Please, concentrate on your own research.”

“I’m afraid I’ve hit a road block,” Weiss admitted. “As the Heiress, I was expected to wield Dust, but not necessarily to refine it. I don’t know where this will go.”

The doctor sighed. After a long silence, he spoke.

“Please avoid telling the Central Officer.” Dr. Tygan fiddled with the tray of surgical tools. “I truly do not expect the outcomes of our research.”

Weiss snorted. “You called it the _Viper autopsy_ or the _magnetic weapons_ research. How can you not expect the outcomes?”

“I am a biochemist, not the other types of scientist. Although I know how bodies function, my expertise is at a molecular level. I am best at applying our knowledge, not identifying the mechanisms behind them. The greatest difficulty working in these facilities is my sheer lack of knowledge.” Tygan dragged pieces of the Viper’s armor out of storage. “I learn quickly, but it is not enough. I am grateful that we are gifted with so many brilliant minds such as yourself.”

“You give me too much credit.”

Tygan wiped his forehead. “You have clarified that psionic powers are not your Auric powers, and that only Auric powers can activate Dust. You have found a way to identify Dust in the field,” the doctor said. “You have made more progress in four hours than I have in four weeks.” His shoulders slump. “Take credit where it is due, Ms. Schnee.”

Weiss looked over the doctor. A sudden realization hit her.

“Are you lonely?” she asked.

Tygan involuntarily reached towards the scar on the back of his skull. “It’s not good to be an ADVENT defector. If you’ll excuse me, I have a project to attend to… will you clean up the autopsy? You only need put the remains into the biohazard bin.” The Chief Scientist dragged out a Sectoid corpse and headed to a fresh dissection table.

Weiss gingerly picked up the Viper's forearm. It squelched under her hands. Maybe… if she tugged it over to the left, she could–

_Wait. I can sense Dust._

The Heiress checked her hands. There was no sign of Dust - not even in its dull, less reactive form - on her person.

Weiss tightened her grip on the Viper arm.

It hummed in her hands with the distinctive vibrations of Aura.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering what Dr. Tygan says in his off-time to his patients, it's the Ballad of Private Friendly, a tragic tale of the soldiers accompanying "the Doorn" as they set out to relieve a besieged Abuja. Doorn only wished he could do more for his men, but alas, it was not to be. Tygan learned it from the resistance group that picked him up.
> 
> Next part: ADVENT levels up their alchemy skills, Bradford's blood pressure goes through the roof, and have you heard the aliens are almost done the Avatar Project? Get a fucking move on, Commander!


	20. Alkalurops Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ADVENT has Jurassic Park levels of security, and a perpetually poor XCOM rushes to finish research.

“So the Aura vibrations are only strongly felt within one specimen?” Dr. Tygan asked. Weiss nodded. The dark-skinned doctor sighed. “For all we know, that could be a statistical fluke. We will need more data. Still, this is extremely worrying…”

Weiss paused. “Doctor, any creature or object can have Dust melded into its chemical structure. But to use the Dust's elemental powers… that requires Aura.”

“We won’t speak of those possibilities,” Tygan said quickly, “not until we have further information.” He looked at the Sectoid corpse on the dissection table: the body had shriveled and the limbs were curled up like a dried spider. Weiss briefly wondered if the same had happened to Qrow’s body, or if Yang’s powers had stopped decomposition. “Is there any other way to activate Dust? Radiation, perhaps? Or breeding with an Auric-sensitive organism?”

“Not that I know of,” Weiss said, “but I hope ADVENT doesn’t find a way.”

“If they have your memories and your corporation’s files,” Dr. Tygan said, “we may be out of luck.” He made a face. "I hope it is not a breeding operation that we will find at the Blacksite."

 

* * *

 

“Belladonna in position.” Blake pressed her body flush against the wall. Her Geiger counter vibrated gently against her right glove. 5 µSv/hour. Mu Lan had handed out a book on radiation units in the briefing that compared Sieverts to bananas. How many bananas was that? 50, or so? She briefly wondered if Sun was now radioactive from all the bananas he ate. “I don’t see or hear anything.”

“Radiation level, Bla– oh, it’s 1-1, you don’t have a nickname yet. Anyways, how lit up are you?” her squad leader, Teuku, asked.

Blake checked her tablet. “5 microSieverts. I hope that’s not enough to kill me.”

“It’s the same as getting an X-Ray,” Mu Lan said, “you’ll be fine.”

“Not alien _x-ray_ , right sir?” Fleury asked, her voice lilting like the breeze dusting the sand dunes. “Lights Out might enjoy it.”

The Cat Faunus could almost hear the Sharpshooter bristling. “Okay, not cool, I’ve seen the stuff Kundi draws, and lemme tell you–“

“Dynamite, heat signature to your left,” Mu Lan said, just in time to interrupt an argument. Blake glanced at her tablet – sure enough, there was something pale red and yellow hovering by a cluster of yellows and whites on the midnight-blue heat map. “Friendly or fauna?”

“Shrike on site. One of the locals,” Fleury said. Blake’s Faunus ears faintly picked up the sound of clinking metal. “Abaeze is running a line back to the camp. He’ll meet up with one of his people – I think her name is Miriam?”

“Can we send someone to guard him, sir?” Novik piped up, shifting from boot to boot. “It’s all quiet on the Western Front, but I’m getting kinda twitchy.”

“Good idea. 1-1, get on a roof.” Mu Lan hummed briefly. “I’d like you to overwatch the area. 1-2 – that’s you, Novik – head out with Abaeze.”

 

The moon was a faint sliver of silver in the cool May night, as Blake clambered up a pile of dusty rubble to a ruined wall. Thick ribbons of stars undulated across the heavens, touching down at the tips of pitted stone buildings. She breathed in, but could only smell the clinical mask covering her mouth and nose and the plasticky communicator clinging to her chin. Blake shifted her weight to her left foot. The sand hissed below her boots, barely louder than the ghostly wind that floated through the abandoned city. She flexed her fingers, then sprung up onto the roof.

It was harder to do gravity-defying feats in this new world. Blake wasn’t sure if it was her new environment or if her time in the limelight had weakened her.

 _Or I could be getting too old for this,_ she thought with a smile. _I can see it now. Crotchety old Blake. You whippersnappers get offa my lawn! I should’ve told Zwei that more often._

She readied her assault rifle. Gambol Shroud hung in its magnetic clip over her back. Although her weapons had changed for a different battlefield, Blake’s trustworthy variant-ballistic-chain-scythe was ready to serve if necessary.

“Tangent to Whistle, how’s set up looking?” Mu Lan continued. “Dawn breaks in six hours. You should be back at least two hours before.”

“Almost done set up,” Vespara responded. “We can test reception in ten.”

The wind washed over Blake’s back, rustling her black mane of hair.

It brought muted sounds of scales against sand.

“Tangent, I hear something reptilian,” Blake said into her mike. “It’s soft, could be far away, but I don’t like it.”

“Understood,” Mu Lan said. “Can you track it down, 1-1?”

“I’ll do my best.”

As Blake readied to jump to the next roof, Mu Lan handed out orders to the rest of the Menace team: Vespara and Fleury were to guard the workers at the com relay, Teuku would back up Novik, and Blake was on her own.

Blake appreciated the distance. She didn’t want to talk about her ears quite yet.

 

Her headset suddenly crackled with panicked screaming.

“The fuck?” Vespara’s voice was barely audible over the static. “Dynamite, the hell’s–?”

“VIPER LORD!” Teuku screamed.

“Annnnd someone’s gonna need a shrink,” Braun muttered. “We’re evacuating the area, Tangent.”

“Good. 1-1, go to the coordinates on your tablet,” Mu Lan said. “1-2, stay calm. Shoot the Viper, then get to shelter. Dynamite, hands off the grenade launcher, you're in the blast radius."

Blake’s sensitive ears zeroed in on the screaming. She looked around – a flat-topped roof ten meters away was the next available landing zone, but it was better than the rotten canvas awning five meters away. She swung Gambol Shroud, hooking the mobile blade around a rusted balcony, and jumped.

“It’s got massive tits, and it spits lightning!” Novik yelled. Gunshots pierced the silence. Sparks popped into existence. “Uh, pretty sure it’s a lady!”

“More shooting, less talking!” Teuku snapped.

Blake jumped two more roofs before arriving at the battle scene. Teuku and Novik had separated, each one backed against a different side of the dusty alleyway. Each XCOM soldier kept emptying their magazines on the jagged beast approaching them, but the Lady Viper soaked up bullets like an elder Grimm. Abaeze – at least, Blake thought it was him, the man had a coil of wire in his hands – lay still against a mound of rubble. Dark fluid muddied the ground around Abaeze’s head.

Lightning crackled over the Lady Viper’s hood. It lacked the arms of its brethren, but that made it no less dangerous as it lunged towards the prone Abaeze.

“Tangent, we need back up, now!” Novik yelled.

“1-1, rescue Abaeze,” Mu Lan said, “I’ll handle the rest of the Menace team.”

Blake studied the battlefield. The XCOM soldiers had the Lady Viper sandwiched between them: terrified, but still bristling with bullets and grenades. Soon, if the Lady Viper behaved like a Grimm, it would go towards the easiest prey.

The Cat Faunus launched Gambol Shroud’s mobile half towards a wall. The blade, enhanced with Dust, easily sank into the moulding on the façade. The Cat Faunus pulled Gambol Shroud’s ribbon tight around her wrists, then swung.

_Fear. I have to be scared. I have to draw its attention off Abaeze._

Unbidden, she imagined Yang’s body, floating helplessly in the prison of lime-green-light. Golden hair would billow about hollow cheeks, as if Yang had merely drowned and become a prisoner of the dark seas.

 

The Lady Viper suddenly turned to hiss at Blake.

Blake tugged on her Aura.

The world froze, as a wispy clone leaked off the Cat Faunus’s body. 

As if summoned to a feast, the Lady Viper lunged straight at the Shadow Clone.

Blake had already yanked Gambol Shroud back to her hands. She landed on both feet and dashed towards Abaeze.

“1-2, cut the wire!” Teuku ordered, “don’t let its brethren find the cell!”

The Cat Faunus reached the prone man. She scooped him into her arms, but her keen senses told her that he needed a medic, and fast. There were no breaths puffing up that still chest, nor any blood to flush his cheeks.

“1-1, get Abaeze to high ground,” Mu Lan said.

Gambol Shroud sang through the air, as Blake jumped for the nearest rooftop. Abaeze hung limply under her left arm. As she flew, she shed another Shadow Clone into the world. This Clone rushed at the Lady Viper, drawing a clone of Gambol Shroud as it went. Blake had just landed on the rooftop when the clone’s sword went cleanly through the Lady Viper’s chest."

“Get clear!” Teuku ordered.

Something beeped three times. Hard light flashed through the darkness, temporarily blinding the Cat Faunus.

Then there was nothing but the whisper of desert winds.

“Is it dead?” Novik asked.

Blake peeped over the rooftop railings. The Lady Viper lay lifelessly on the irradiated sand. But one could never be too careful with snakes. While hunting for food in her White Fang days, Blake had occasionally stepped on brown-barred snakes. Those slippery creatures would play dead, then bite her booted heels as she moved off.

For good measure, she racked her rifle, and shot it in the chest.

“Now it is,” Blake said. She bent down and felt for a pulse in Abaeze’s neck. “The Grimm got the Resistance member. He’s dead.”

“Dr. Tygan, do you have any ideas on the Lady Viper's origin?” Mu Lan asked. "Is it like an electric variant of the Viper Lord?"

“Sir, I believe Ms. Schnee has something to tell you,” the Doctor said slowly.

 

* * *

 

“What were you thinking?!”

Mu Lan looked ready to grab the Faunus by the neck and shake her like a mother cat disciplining misbehaving kitten.

“I told you – no demonstrations of your powers in Saudi Arabia! Do you _want_ to spend time in jail?” She paced back and forth across the debriefing room. “And the Resistance member dead as well – what if they blame you? We’ll never let them take you, we look after our–“

Braun side-eyed the pacing commanding officer. “Sir, is everything all right?”

Mu Lan crossed her arms. “No. Not at all. Scientist Schnee, if you will.”

Weiss cleared her throat and opened up a program on her tablet.

“We believe ADVENT has managed to crossbreed Grimm and aliens,” Weiss said, going through her presentation. “That, or Vipers have been infused with Dust, and have souls – or have been granted souls – that allow them to use said Dust’s powers. Either case is extremely dangerous for XCOM soldiers.”

“Wait, you can get a soul?” Braun asked.

Blake and Weiss shared an uncomfortable look.

“It seems possible,” Blake said. “I get the feeling I knew someone with one.”

“Quick question,” Novik said, nursing his chest, “Dust is that explodey stuff Yang loves so much, right?”

“Yes. And the main requirement to harnessing its powers is the presence of a soul,” Dr. Tygan said. “Weiss tells me that it can only be mined on Remnant.”

“The corpse displays very poor sensitivity to Aura,” Weiss said, “so it was most likely infused with poor-quality Dust. It could also be too young to have a developed soul, and so could not do more than shoot sparks.”

Vespara raised his hand. “Does having a weaker soul affect how you harness Dust?”

“Yes, but I happen to be skilled at Dust magery.” Weiss conjured a picture of the dead Lady Viper on her tablet. “Whatever Dust within the corpse would react to my power, regardless of its original container.”

“And you guys couldn’t find a nest?” Teuku's voice shook. The Grenadier hadn't stopped quivering since his return to the Avenger.

“No other heat or biological signatures,” Dr. Tygan confirmed. “I believe this was an escapee. The fact that a few cadavers in our possession also have Dust-sensitivity leads me to believe in the existence of a breeding program.”

Fleury blew out a breath and ran her hands through her cropped hair. “So, either ADVENT’s got the fuckiest zoo tycoon going, or they’re doing the worst alchemy ever. And Abaeze is dead, so the resistance cell won’t be happy with us.”

“Someone is going to have to talk with the cell leader,” Braun said. “Green just got a message in coms. They want a negotiator out there.”

“Too bad Central’s asleep,” Fleury said with a yawn. “We’ll need senior command out there to patch things up.”

Blake snuck a look at Mu Lan. The elder woman’s nails were cutting white crescents into her tanned forearms.

“I want Teuku and Odinson to accompany me,” Mu Lan said. “I’ll talk it over with the cell leader.” Tygan opened his mouth, but Mu Lan waved a hand. “Don’t worry about me, Doctor. I’ll be back before Commander Bradford wakes.”

 

* * *

 

Bradford raised an eyebrow as he read through Shen’s report.

“ _-venom sac is pulverized repeatedly with a blunt object (ball-peen hammer, GREMLIN foot, handle of Crescent Rose, fist) and venom periodically extracted from gland with sharpened hypodermic needle._ ” He closed the file on his tablet. “Well, that was disturbing. Tygan made glue and a blood-clotter out of the Viper juice, but he thinks there’s still potential in that venom. Shen’s finishing up the Skulljack now that the nanomedkits are done, and she’s got half her team working on some sort of experimental ammo.”

The Commander finished making her cot and slid under the covers. “Are we not doing the Psionics project?”

“Not enough supplies or time to build the Psi Lab. We are the world’s deadliest hobos.” Bradford shook his head. “I set Tygan on making Plated Armor. But it’s not looking good. They’ll finish long after the Avatar Project times out.”

“Damn it. We’ll have to field Belladonna and Xiao Long on the next mission.” The Commander shook her head. “I’ve sorted things out with Abaeze’s widow, but I would still like to leave her some recompense. It would put us in better standing with this cell.”

“Don’t have the supplies for that, sir.” The Central Officer yawned. It was 9 AM, and still too early for his liking. His current schedule would be the death of him. “Vincent’s quiet. Looks like we’re on our own.”

At least the Commander had brought him coffee before retreating to bed.

“We can trade the Viper cocktail recipe with the resistance.” The Commander stirred from her cot. A lovely black bruise sprouted over her left eye, a gift from Abaeze’s widow. Bradford briefly felt bad for keeping her awake, but he quelled the thought _._ They both had a job to do. “It’s a shame we can’t milk a Viper like an actual snake. They could keep it alive… maybe containment with periodical harvest. But there’s no indication a Viper would survive repeated beatings… Shame there’s no space for an alien containment facility aboard the Avenger.”

“Say that loud enough, sir, and you’ll summon Dr. Vahlen.” Bradford shuddered. “Knowing her, she’d man the breeding program herself.”

“Maybe we should use more explosives,” the Commander said loudly. “In fact, all our soldiers are hereby grenadiers who will destroy those priceless, priceless artifacts.” She grinned. “I wonder what she’d think of our X4 usage.”

Bradford stifled a yawn with his coffee mug. “Don’t start. The Resistance is already shorting us on supplies. If we don’t use up our monthly allotment, they’ll send less.”

The Commander fluffed her pillow up and built a nest out of the threadbare blankets. “The aliens couldn’t take bureaucracy away?”

Bradford laughed. “Alien dictatorships _thrive_ on bureaucracy.” His levity soon fell away, as he checked the timer on his tablet. “Five days left on the Avatar project, sir. We’re running out of time. We _need to move._ ”

“Central.” She sat up. “What we do will destroy twenty years worth of progress for ADVENT. We will kick the hornet’s nest, and badly.” The Commander reached out to grasp his hand. Her skin was oddly clammy in the climate-controlled quarters. “We don’t know how long Rengel and the rest have until ADVENT attacks. Let’s give them as long as possible. Trust me.”

“…If you say so, sir. I’m off to promote a soldier in the barracks. Night, Commander,” Bradford said, retreating to the door of her chambers. “We’ve got five days left, so make them count.”

 

* * *

 

“And strike!” Odinson yelled, the sound echoing around the GTS.

Blake’s machete danced upwards, knocking the Sectoid bust back a few paces.

“ _We’re all born, with a dream,_ ” Yang sang in between pull-ups, “ _we wanna make come true~_ ”

“Strike!” Odinson said.

“ _Just try to understand this_ ,” Yang continued, pulling herself up with one well-muscled arm, “ _It's not that I am trying to outshine–_ “

Blake dropped to the ground and slashed at the base of the Sectoid’s chest, sending the bust to the ground.

“Stab!” Odinson ordered.

Blake buried her blade a good three inches into the Sectoid bust.

“Awesome, kiddo.” Odinson made to ruffle her hair, but Blake slapped his hand away. “Not a touchy person, are you. All right, I hereby dub thee a Ranger, of the esteemed slashy-close-range kind. Go Leeroy Jenkins it out there.”

“Translate for the alien?” Blake asked.

“You’re a Ranger, now go out there and kill things,” Jung said in between puffs as he lifted the barbell up. “Two… more… reps…”

“ _You've got your inner beauty_ ,” Yang huffed in between pull-ups. “ _We can't all be divine–_ “

Ohuruogo knocked her elbow into Yang’s side. The golden brawler yelped and dropped from the pull-up bar.

“All right, songbird,” the dark-skinned woman said with a laugh, “Blake’s a fully minted Ranger now, we don’t need a training montage anymore.”

“Speaking of which,” Central said, appearing at the mouth of the GTC. Everyone dropped their weapons/exercise equipment and saluted – after a second, so did Blake. “Sounds like there’s a new corporal in town, Xiao Long.”

Yang grinned ear to ear. She stood at attention as the grizzled man pinned the new badges to her uniform.

“May you serve XCOM well, Corporal Xiao Long,” Central said. He turned to Blake, withdrawing a different set of badges from his belt. “And for you, Operative Belladonna. I confer upon you the Specialist rank for Rangers.”

Central was noticeably more uncomfortable as he peeled back the adhesive and stuck the badge onto Blake’s breast pocket. His eyes kept straying to the bow atop her black locks.

“Serve XCOM well, Specialist Belladonna.” Central saluted everyone back, then left the room at a brisk pace. Blake’s sensitive cat ears heard a faint, “ _five days left_ ” on his breath.

 

Devgan watched the elderly man go, his lips twisted with worry. “Is it just me, or has Cent– the Commander been kinda weird recently?”

“I’ve heard we’re gonna assault a Blacksite soon.” Jung dropped the barbell. It clanged against the bench. “He’s probably worried that we won’t have enough trained soldiers to fight."

Yang slung her arm around Blake’s shoulders. “Looks like we’re gonna show XCOM how it’s done, partner!”

“What, will we be teaching old dogs new tricks?” Blake asked with a smile.

“You know what your promotion means – by the way, nice work,” Ohuruogo said. The dark-skinned woman fist-bumped Yang. “You need a nickname. Now. Who’s got ideas?”

“Can it not be insulting like his?“ Blake’s golden partner stabbed her thumb in Devgan’s direction. "I can actually hit what I aim at."

“I’ll have you know that I can hit things now!” the Specialist retorted.

“You can?” Blake asked. “That’s news.”

“To be fair, he’s better than Tangent,” Jung said. “Not that that’s a high bar.”

“Sure. Keep telling him that.” Ohuruogo elbowed Devgan in turn. “Now. I think One Punch’s the perfect name–“

“Nope,” Devgan said, “too obvious.”

“Says the man codenamed Zero,” Odinson said. “Go on, Corporal, you can shove him too. You’re ranked high enough for a bit of violence. Now,” he said, raising his voice over Devgan’s protests, “I’m a fan of Fireball, personally – I should treat you to one.”

“Isn’t it that gross cinnamon-whiskey?” Yang asked.

“You did mix it with dandelion milk. I’m not quite sure why,” Blake said.

“Well, we don’t have actual milk,” the golden brawler protested, “and Kelly wanted to make milk punch!”

“You two have terrible taste,” Jung said flatly. “I can’t believe you survived drinking that. Phoenix?”

“Still too obvious.” Odinson turned to Blake. “Hey, you’ve been Yang’s partner for a while, right?”

“I would hope so.“

“Excellent!” Odinson said. To Blake’s great relief, he didn’t clap her on the back. “All right, gang – whatever Blake chooses, that’s Corporal Yang’s new codename.”

“Make it good, Blakey,” Yang grumbled, but her eyes twinkled. “I don’t wanna end up another zero to hero, unlike Dev-gone over there.”

“You’re not even trying now, Blondie,” the poor Specialist grumbled.

“Like the sweet, or her hair?” Jung asked.

“Well, it’s certainly not her temperament– ow, I take that back as well as my arm,” Ohuruogo said, extricating her left from Yang’s grasp.

The Cat Faunus thought of the Orphic Mysteries Mu Lan had leant her. They were the stories of a musician so talented, his songs made streams stop in their path. There was the same sort of quality about Yang. Looking at her took Blake’s breath away… not that she would ever admit it.

“I like Lyra,” she said, “for songs so beautiful they made the world stop.”

“Awww, that’s adorable!” Devgan said. “Sounds pretty good for our resident iPod.”

“Is this because I wouldn’t stop singing during your exam?” Yang asked. She hugged her partner. “I love it, Blakey. Thank you so much!”

Blake smiled, and hugged her partner back. At least Yang had her (metaphorical and literal) back.

 

* * *

 

It had been quite a while since his tour in Iraq. Bradford’s Arabic was rusty, but thank God above, the liaisons to this cell had probably been educated in the West, because they spoke fluent English.

Nasser El-Amin nodded slowly. “Yes, if worst comes to worst, we can shelter another Resistance group in addition to Johnson-Pérez. By the way, he is the whiniest prisoner I have ever met,” he said, voice clouded by an English accent. “But we are in the middle of the desert, and it will be difficult to feed a group of sixty. We will need a trade.”

“What do you want?” Bradford asked.

“Proof of good faith,” El-Amin stated. “We have been betrayed many times before by ADVENT shills.”

“I can give you medicine, and instructions to make it,” Bradford stated. “If you kill a Viper, you’ll have an unlimited supply.”

“Kill a Viper?” El-Amin asked, shaking his head. “We will need better armor, like that of your soldiers, to face those beasts.”

Bradford sighed. “We’re low across the board on supplies. Until we get more metal, we can’t create armor for your people as well.”

El-Amin pursed his lips. “Then you had better search elsewhere,” he warned. “I hear there is a black market specializing in your trade in the Ivory Coast. We cannot hold back the Vipers… you say there is no nest, but I doubt ADVENT is still working on de-irradiating the area.”

“You have _anti-aircraft_ guns in your base. We leant you equipment to do scans–“ Bradford started, but the link had already dissolved.

The Central Officer sighed. It was like 2015 in the Middle East all over again. Nobody wanted to talk to each other.

He was running out of options and Resistance cells. Ru’s cell was small, so they could take twenty at most. Besides, he didn’t want to put Ru in contact with Vincent. The Polish cell was still scrounging for food after a hard winter. They couldn’t support anyone but themselves. The Ethiopian group had gone quiet. The Indian cell could only take another twenty. The Russian cell, though based in a Cold War era installation, was not on the best terms with him. XCOM hadn’t contacted East Asia or Western Africa, but he feared the situation would be the same. Nobody would be able to take in refugees if ADVENT decided to attack Resistance HQ.

There was no other option. If ADVENT forced the Resistance HQ into retreat, Bradford would have to return to the site of his greatest failure.

 _I can’t,_ he thought, bile welling up in his throat. It was there that he had given up on the cause, after fleeing the base over the corpses of his men. _I can’t fail them again._

There were five days left until the aliens had a clear-cut win over humanity. And if that meant returning to XCOM’s failed iteration number 4, where Hazurov had died, then Bradford would just have to grab a bottle of whiskey and drink up.

Bradford opened a channel to the Ukrainian Resistance cell of the Ozerna caves.

 

* * *

 

“–detected magnetic fields radiating from the armored plates,” Dr. Ortiz said as she went through her presentation on the other side of the lab. “These could provide additional protection against Gauss-based weaponry through disruption.”

“Yes, that is true. I will check back in with you in two hours, Dr. Ortiz,” Weiss heard Tygan say.

Her attention soon returned to the vials of Viper-synthesized glue on her table: some from Dust-sensitive, others from normal morphs. The Heiress pressed her fingers to the vial of glue and sent pulses of Aura through her fingertips.

Weiss smiled to herself. _If only Father could see me now. Slaving away like some common researcher. And yet, I find myself oddly happy to contribute in this way._

At the point of contact, the glue began to jitter. Tiny crystals formed within the milky mix, like snowflakes blooming in frostbitten air. But as soon as she removed her fingers, the crystals dissolved.

“Intriguing,” Weiss said, then shook her head. _I’ve spent too much time with Tygan_ , she thought as she wrote down her observations.

“How goes your research?” Dr. Tygan asked as he passed by her lab station. “Have you managed to incorporate the ADVENT dust into the glue?”

“No, but I did discover this.” She demonstrated the crystallization process. “The glue itself has some sort of Dust-component, most likely from extraction. The ADVENT armor dust has a very different reaction – it buzzes, like Electric Dust, rather than humming like the Viper or tinkling like pure, crystalized Dust.” Weiss looked thoughtfully at the samples of ground up ADVENT armor on her lab table. “How many ADVENT Troopers do we have?”

Tygan pointed at the far wall where cabinets covered every inch of space. “From sections A to C. If you are looking for armor alone, in section D.” He flicked through his tablet. “You mentioned that Dust-infused items have special properties.”

“That is correct, doctor,” Weiss said. “I think we can mimic ADVENT’s plated armor by Dust-binding plates to pre-existing armor. Now, how many corpses can you spare?”

“If we are to assault the Blacksite soon,” Tygan said, “I believe _all of them_ is the appropriate answer.” He looked at the drawer containing Qrow’s corpse, still untouched due to a massive workload. “We are running out of time.”

 

 


	21. Alkalurops Pt III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which XCOM researches more than a desperate grad student. R&D on the Avenger entails a 50% chance of explosions, and 50% chance of "here we go again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alkalurops; the Shepherd's Crook, of the Bootes (oxherd) constellation.

“ _Cazzo!_ Get clear!”

Ruby sprinted across the Proving Grounds, fire extinguisher in tow. With her Aura-enhanced speed, she put out the hungry flames before they could jump to the highly explosive Elerium cores lying nearby.

“Most people run _away_ from danger, Rose,” Hamidou said as she crawled out from underneath her workbench. The swarthy engineer carefully moved her EMP grenade prototypes out of their safebox. “You know, to avoid paying Tygan a visit.”

“Well, I didn’t!” Ruby shut off the stream of chemical foam. “This is just like forging Crescent Rose all over again. Dust is a tricky little thing when you’re not care– oh, I sound like Weiss.”

“ _Minchia._ ” Engineer Provenza wiped the sweat from his narrow brow. His fists shook as he stuck them in his pockets. “You saved my bacon, Rose. Next Haven we find, lunch is on me.”

“No problemo. What caught on fire this time?” Ruby tucked the fire extinguisher into a cubby below Provenza’s workspace. “I’m just gonna leave this here.”

“Blue-screen rounds.” Provenza glared at the smoking remains of the bullets. “All this EMP micro burst tech we stole from ADVENT should fit into these _zoccaro_ shells. I’ve got the magic blue smoke, but I don’t got the goddamn blue screen of death!”

The red reaper cocked her head. “Uh, what.”

“I’m trying to crash its internal computers.” Provenza crossed his arms. “In case a Sectopod decides to turn someone into mincemeat again.”

“Dude, my blueprints for the EMP grenades are right here.” Hamidou held up her tablet. “You want them, they’re yours.”

“Not fucking blind, I’ve looked them over,” Provenza huffed.

Ruby looked at the schematics and notes laid over the workbench. Back on Remnant, she would have thrown a healthy application of Dust at the problem, but her old solution wasn’t going to work here. _How did we fight robots before_? she wondered.

“Can’t we just sling capacitors around?” Ruby asked. “I mean, Chief Shen’s got that cool Capacitor Discharge on ROV-R.”

“That’s the basis for these babies.” Hamidou patted the grenades’ container as if it were a fluffy Corgi. “But these are pretty simple. You pull the pin, chuck it away, and shield your tablets. Fitting these in a grenadier’s cannon, that’s gonna take me more time.”

“Central wants these by Thursday,” Provenza reminded the other engineer, “you’d better get started.”

“Whatcha having trouble with?” Ruby asked. “Are the capacitors too big?”

“They have to survive going through the barrel without discharging.” Provenza got out a brush and pan. "Can't even chamber them before they explode."

Ruby suddenly remembered swords dragging strings, tossing Penny to the ground and cutting the android into neat pieces.

“Giant magnets could work,” she murmured to herself. Ruby tried to repress the memory. 

Provenza began to sweep acrid-smelling metal and plastic bits into the recycling bin. “If this blows up on me again, I’ll give it a try. Need a hand with anything?”

“Nope! I’ve already made the improved scopes.” Ruby twiddled her thumbs. “So unless you got something for me to do…”

“Hold this,” Provenza said, holding out a small, circular tube filled with glowing Elerium, “and if puffs up, haul ass in the other direction as fast as you can.”

 

* * *

“I love your drawings,” Kundi said.

Blake nearly shot off the sofa in the living quarters.

“Sorry!” Kundi backed off, hands held protectively before her. Her plait bounced on the nape of her neck. “I forget, Central does that too, I’m really sorry–“

“Don’t do that again, please.” Blake clutched her journal to her chest. It wasn’t much of a book: some old paper, bound together with leather and string, but it was a gift from Teuku for saving his life. “Is privacy foreign to you people?”

Kundi shrugged. “Well, yeah. We’re all packed in like sardines. Hard to get away with anything but the truth. Everybody knows that Kelly’s fucking Evora, and–“

“I didn’t need to know that,” Blake muttered as she opened her book.

“I’m really sorry, Belladonna.” Kundi twirled her braid of hair between her hands. “I really like your linework. Um… I don’t know if you know, but I do a lot of our propaganda.”

Blake stayed quiet. She had enough of the _winning hearts and minds_ stuff the White Fang had pulled during their rise to violence.

“It’s not – _oh, we’re here to kill aliens_ stuff. Well, not usually,” Kundi said hastily. “It’s more, _the truth is out there_ , _ADVENT is lying to you_ , _you’re not alone,_ that sort of stuff. And… well, if you wanna contribute, I’m usually by the Armory.”

The Cat Faunus looked down at her sketch of Yang: soaring through the air, fist wreathed in flames. She imagined plastering her doodles onto posters across the globe. They would turn Yang into a superhero of the Resistance. But that would place undue attention on the golden brawler, attention Blake wasn’t sure if Yang even wanted after the Coliseum incident.

 _I should ask her_ , Blake thought. _Maybe she wants to be a hero_.

 

* * *

“Commander, the aliens continue to make progress on the Avatar Project,” Central said as Mu Lan gathered some reed and jujube salad from the salad bar. “We have four more days. If we want to save Earth, we’ll have to move fast."

“Thank you for the reminder.” Mu Lan poured Central another mug of coffee. “Our destination?”

“The Saudi cell has given word of some Black Market in the Côte d’Ivoire.” Central sipped from his mug, then made a face. “Don't know why Starbucks wanted Arabica beans, they taste like molten shit. Anyways, we’ll sell some corpses to restock the commissary there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Mu Lan lifted her tray. “If you need me, I’ll be with Teuku in the AWC.”

“What’s up with Mu Lan and Central?” Yang asked, watching the former Commander leave the mess hall. “He’s got some serious stink-eye going on.”

“Eh, that’s his default face.” Across the table, Odinson shrugged: but carefully, as to not rupture his stitches. “Central’s just worried. Don’t see why. Even in the old XCOM, we cheesed the fuck outta everything. This is business as usual.”

“Had to learn things on the fly?” Novik asked – a little bruised, a little cut-up from the Lady Viper’s scales – but at least he had all his limbs intact.

“You have no idea,” Odinson laughed. “We came up with the craziest shit. MECs, gene mods… people were literal Superman.” The laughter drained from his face. “Sometimes, I can’t believe we lost.”

Yang nudged him. “Hey. Would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall watching that. You being literal Superman.”

“Your puns suck,” Fleury said flatly. “And do you know what Superman is?”

“I don’t,” Yang said, “but I’m willing to give it a try. Can’t be that bad, right?”

Odinson perked up. “Sounds like some re-education is in order. To the Living Quarters!”

As they finished their dinner, he muttered a quick, “thanks, Yang.”

 

* * *

“So where would you attack?” Bradford asked Odinson. The Avenger had landed on the tip of the Ivory Coast to contact the Black Market. Before Bradford hit the sack, he had decided to train his replacements. One could never be too careful after 20 years of hard drinking and smoking.

 _You should really see Dr. Tygan_ , Bradford could almost hear Old Shen say. Bradford brushed the suggestion off and returned to the GTS.

Odinson thumbed through the schematics of the last alien facilities XCOM had hit. It wasn’t much, just some sketches Papillon had pilfered from the alien occupiers, but Bradford was banking on their reliability.

“Classic rooftop invasion,” Odinson said after a moment. “Three on the roof to clear out the turrets, with grenades to keep reinforcements busy. That should allow three on the ground to take the facility. The biggest problem are airdrops on the roof, but we could hack a turret to our side.”

“How will you recover artifacts?” Bradford asked Yoshida.

“If it’s a hit and run, we won't recover that much. No corpses, that’s for sure.” Yoshida frowned at the blueprints. Over her shoulder, EI-N buzzed happily and dipped in the air. “Bad GREMLIN,” she said without looking. “I’d send out a team with shock-resistant vials. Best we can do is sampling. But if Firebrand shakes off interceptors, I’d have her do a pass to grab some of the stuff.”

“Sounds solid.” XCOM’s current field Commander stood and dusted off his slacks. “All right, work on those sims and report back to me, same time, tomorrow.”

“Sir, why all the responsibility all of a sudden?” Yoshida asked as she rifled through the combat sims. “Are you going to step down?”

“I wish – don’t make that face, I’m joking.” Bradford shrugged. “I’m old. Don’t know when I’ll kick the bucket. Best to have back-up. If I’m gone, can’t think of anyone better to support the Commander.”

 

* * *

“At least you can hit the broad side of a barn, sir.” Blake looked at the bull’s-eye downrange. Only three out of twelve bullets had hit the paper target. “If XCOM hasn’t already blown it up.”

"A true XCOM soldier already," Mu Lan retorted, "you give me non-stop sass, in addition to blowing up everything in a three-mile radius."

“I’ll have you know we only blow up things that ask for it,” Langlade said as she replaced her weapon’s clip. “At least, that’s what Central tells me.”

“Square your shoulders, sir.” Kelly demonstrated with her own pistol. “You’ve got the shakiest wrists this side of Parkinson’s. Square up, and you’ll straighten out.”

“Thanks for the lesson, Kelly.” Mu Lan holstered her side arm. “Nice aim, Belladonna. You’re progressing well, Langlade.”

“Is this the compliments lottery?” Blake asked as she stowed away her rifle.

“I try to be honest–” Kelly snorted something that sounded like, _bullshit_. “-when I feel like it,” Mu Lan retorted. “In my line of work, honesty was a fast track to getting killed. That, and the inability to shoot straight.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s a miracle you’re still alive, Tangent,” Kelly said.

Mu Lan shrugged. “Sorry, Kelly, you’re stuck with me until I finally kick the bucket or miss a point-blank shot.”

“After today, sir, you have no right to judge us rookies’ aim.” Langlade laughed. The rifle slipped from her grasp and tumbled towards the floor.

“Watch it!” Mu Lan snatched the weapon away with surprising speed for an elderly woman. She took out the clip – all five bullets were still loaded. “And that, child,” the XCOM official said as she flicked on the safety, “is how I survived to become XCOM’s first Commander. Kelly, I’m assigning you to review basic gun safety with Langlade.”

“At least I didn’t point it at my face,” Langlade protested.

Kelly clapped the Grenadier on the back. “You survived natural selection! _Sláinte_ , let’s celebrate at the bar.”

“I’m afraid Langlade will be accompanying Central to negotiate with the Black Market,” Mu Lan said as she stowed Langlade’s rifle away. The hem of her shirt rode up, revealing an ugly scar: twisted skin folded in on itself, a disgusting shade of beige tracing the outlines of each fold. “I apologize for crashing the party.”

“Holy shit, sir,” Kelly said, “the hell’s that from?”

Mu Lan straightened her uniform. “Classified.”

Blake cleared her throat. “I thought you told Central that most of your contacts were dead?”

The elder woman looked the Cat Faunus over. Blake refused to back down, holding Mu Lan’s dark brown gaze.

“Sir, for once in your fuckin–“ Kelly caught herself as Mu Lan looked at her in turn. “I mean, um, Sir. Maybe… tell us the truth? For once?”

After a long silence, Mu Lan sighed.

“All right then. Story time. I was tipped off that a human smuggler was dealing in India. While doing other work, I overheard a husband threatening to kill his wife.” She smiled grimly. “I was in my twenties, I was young and optimistic. I got in touch with the wife and set up an escape route.”

“I can't imagine he would be too happy about that." Blake involuntarily thought of a bull Faunus who promised, “ _nobody will take you away from me, Blakey._ ” The Cat Faunus shuddered. She had escaped on her own, but if she had stayed…

“No. It is ridiculously easy to buy acid in rural India. He got Diya’s nose. It melted right off,” Mu Lan said blandly. “She went the express route to an American plastic surgeon. In the hospital, she tells me, _I have a sister, the only family left in the world, they’ll go after her. Please, rescue her too_.” She laughed. “And I, in a case of stupid heroics, went back.”

Blake’s stomach sank.

“The sister had burned to death. A kitchen accident, the village said. Tragic, completely unrelated.” Mu Lan’s lips twisted in a cadaver’s grin. “The husband was waiting for me with a gallon of acid. He wasn’t in with the sex slave ringleaders. He chose to maim someone on his own free will.” The elderly woman shrugged. “Diya was distraught. She rightfully cut me out of her life for failing to save her sister. I don’t know what happened to Diya, but sometimes I wonder… if I should have stayed out of her business.”

Langlade sat back against the firing range wall. “You know, the way Central tells it, life was pretty good in the old days… but hearing… were we that bad?” She stared at the ceiling. “If we kick the aliens out… are we gonna go back to that?”

“Not everyone,” Kelly argued, “just because a few are shit-stained arseholes doesn’t make us any bit less worth saving. Belladonna, back me up. You fought with terrorists, right?”

Blake bristled. Something about Mu Lan's story rubbed her the wrong way: heroic savior from another country, bringing the downtrodden back on their feet? The White Fang had used that rhetoric in the ghettos of Menagerie, and before them, the humans who cast the Faunus into Menagerie. Cycles, each and everyone of them, all coming back to the start.

“They were not terrorists when I–“

"Eh, chill. We're no saints here." Kelly waved her hand. “My granddad’s IRA. Probably blew up a few cars. Teuku killed a couple o' civvies when he first started out. I’m not me granddad,” she said, slipping into an accent, “but I’m gonna fight for the right thing, the right way.”

The Cat Faunus closed her eyes. She could almost see the other members of team RWBY, grinning as they partied on the Beacon dance floor.

“Strangely enough,” Blake said, “I still think there are people worth fighting for.”

 

* * *

 Over dinner in the Comms facility – well, dinner for the Commander, and breakfast for him – Bradford brought up an organizational change. It had been brewing in the back of his mind ever since he had thought of training his replacements.

“We could split the role,” he said, tearing chunks off his bread roll. “I’ll be the Commander out in public, while you make all the big decisions like usual. It’ll keep you in the shadows. The enemy knows me better, makes me a bigger target for ADVENT.”

The Commander poked at her salad, still untouched from four hours ago. The communications room's lights turned the sad collection of wilted greens a sickly blue. “Is the role getting to you? I don’t have many people left, but we could look for a therapis–”

“No. If your network's dead, I’m better connected. Makes XCOM look more authoritative, if you don't look at my shoddy ops record. Besides, I get hurt less.” Bradford motioned at her black eye. “So you’ll deal with tactics, and I’ll handle supplies. Kinda like the old days.”

“Is there something else to this, Central?” The Commander’s fork dipped into the hard rind of the jujube. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complain about your role.”

Bradford raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard me gripe about wanting to be a plain old Central Officer. You know I don’t like being the Commander – hell, even in previous XCOMs, I left that role specifically for you. I don't mind being a figurehead. It's what I do best.”

A hollow silence sat between them.

“Sounded better in my head,” Bradford muttered, then stuffed the remainder of bread roll in his mouth. He was acutely aware of the way she was looking at him: pity, a bit of disgust, sadness…

The Commander dipped her head. “Whatever makes you most comfortable, Central. But I doubt our men will be happy with the change.”

He blew out a breath. It hadn’t felt right, taking the Commander’s name, just as it hadn’t for the past twenty years. Sure, she was still his Commander in his head, but it was nice to have it out in the open.

“I’ll deal with them. How’s Urist doing?” Bradford’s hands shook as he lifted the mug of warm water to his lips. He didn’t know if it was fatigue or nerves. “Still the same?”

“The stasis tank keeps her alive,” the Commander said, “but I doubt she will ever wake. Fleury mourns her greatly. I would suggest having a talk with Fleury.”

Bradford nodded. “Worst comes to worst, we can cut Urist off.” The weight quickly returned to his shoulders. “It… might be for the best, if she’s that…”

“No, we can’t.” The Commander leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. “Morale will plummet if the soldiers see themselves as expendable. You told me, in the last war, that we would take care of our own. The same applies here.”

Bradford’s shoulders instantly felt lighter. “I'm on it, sir. Adler and Teuku doing well?”

“Patient confidentiality,” she said, “but I can say that Adler wants to murder you less. We can move him off suicide watch. Teuku… he will need time. I don’t think he’s shaken, but I wouldn’t field him on the Blacksite.”

“It’s a start.” Bradford clung to that faint spark of hope. _They’re resilient. They’ll heal._ “I’ll have Hamidou get started on Iron-Manning Adler. But if Teuku’s out, our only Grenadier is Langlade, and she’s just a Squddie. I’ll assign her extra hours in the GTS.”

“I’ll keep working with Teuku,” the Commander said grimly. “Let’s hope ADVENT hasn’t beefed up the Blacksite’s security with Grimm.”

 

* * *

Three days left. Odinson ran Blake and Yang through countless drills. Ruby was busy in Engineering, tinkering with the Bluescreen Rounds. Weiss was refining Dust-fusion to stick ADVENT plates to XCOM’s nanoscale-woven armor. Tygan had developed a potent liquid-bandage from Viper’s venom. Thanks to his work, Kelly would spend three days fewer in the AWC and was ready for physiotherapy, and Urist would be stable enough that every shift of the Avenger wouldn’t set off alarms in her stasis-pod. Langlade was busy ferreting out the Black Market, aided by Agreste and Green. The B-team was busy practicing maneuvers for the Blacksite Assault. All in all, everyone was on track.

A definite energy pervaded the Avenger: part desperation, part burning desire to see the Blacksite ash in the wind.

 

* * *

“What exploded this time?” Chief Shen asked as she poked her head into the Proving Grounds.

“I almost had it!” Ruby pouted at the pile of ashes on her workbench. “I – gosh darn it! I had it – it was stable – and then it exploded! Oh, sorry, I really shouldn’t swear.”

“Sir, I’m starting to get on board with the idea of chucking giant capacitors at the enemy,” Provenza said with a frustrated sigh. “Or just mining the place to hell.”

“Chief Shen inspected the blueprints on Ruby’s tablet. She tapped the screen, zooming in on the minute circuitry connecting the EMP-disrupting devices to the deployment nodes. Once the bullet breached the target’s exterior, it would hypothetically zap the target’s electronic bits. “Check your connections,” she said after a moment, “I think something’s short-circuiting. Maybe too packed together, with shoddy connections to boot.”

“The connections I can’t fix,” Provenza said, “unless I have your permission to melt down some of the alien alloys.”

“Permission granted. Rose, can you start melting the metals down?”

“On it,” Ruby said, popping off of her bench.

Provenza picked up his stylus. “Back to the drawing board,” he sighed, and began to rework the circuit boards.

 

* * *

“Almost…” Weiss murmured, holding the armor plate slathered in glue to the Kevlar vest. The test chamber hummed with Auric power: if Weiss wasn’t shielded behind bulletproof glass, her teeth would have chattered. The Dust crystals in both compounds vibrated – different frequencies, testament to their poor quality, but past experience told her they were approaching fusion. “Just a little more…"

The tentatively forming Dust crystals suddenly exploded. Though they did not send shards of alloy and bits of fabric flying, they did liquefy the glue. The suddenly viscous glue coated the entire chamber and the front of her labcoat in milky fluid.

“Why does everything around here explode?” Weiss grumbled as she wiped glue from her clothes. “This is the fifth time today. I don’t understand why Remnant was so fascinated with Dust when it's as volatile as my father.”

Dr. Fong’s trolley rolled by, laden with ADVENT armor pieces and forged iron plates. Fong set a new bottle of Viper glue and ADVENT armor plates on Weiss’s station. “Want a change?” he asked, motioning to her lab coat.

“Yes please.” Weiss almost sighed in relief as he handed her a new coat from his trolley. “Is anyone else having any luck?”

“Tygan swears that he’ll be able to completely modify the ADVENT armor for our own purposes.” Fong shrugged, then reached over to close the test chamber. Within minutes, high powered water jets wiped the chamber clean. “It won’t be in time. We’re depending on you and your magic Dust.”

“No pressure,” Weiss muttered as she slathered glue onto a fresh armor plate. “Can you do me a favor and hold these in place? I might be better able to focus on the individual crystals.”

“Want me to grab a clamp?”

“It helps if there’s more presences with souls when working with Dust,” Weiss said absent-mindedly as she stuck the plate onto the wet nanoscale jacket. “That’s why the Schnee Dust Company mines with Faunus slave labor instead of automating the process. Souls stabilize Dust.”

“Charming. What’s our safety word if it’s going to explode?” Fong asked as she handed him trial #32.

“Inarticulate screaming,” she suggested.

“For all the shit ADVENT’s done, they had better lab safety,” Fong muttered. He clamped down on the jacket and plate sandwich. “If I lose a hand, you’re buying me lunch.”

“We don’t even buy lunch. I’ll trade you my bread for your salad.”

"Isn't it Green's turn to make the bread rolls?"

"I hear he's making focaccia instead." Weiss smirked. “I know. It’s a great sacrifice.”

“The things we do for XCOM. All right, hit it.”

 

* * *

“Twenty crates of supplies, holding two kilos of Elerium and fourteen kilos of food,” Bradford muttered as he went up and down the Avenger’s storage. “Should feed us for another week without needing to forage. The Black Market gets more and more expensive each week.”

He propped himself against the wall and wiped the sweat from his brow. The closed-in space was almost oppressive. It reminded him of the charred rafters, barely sheltering his back from the midday sun as he dug through the remains of his sister’s home. He had found Kimberly, and Mark, and little Emily: charred remains all glued together by the heat of the fire and their melted clothes.

The Central Officer shook his head. Someone from his family must have survived. His grandparents’ farms had been flattened; his aunts had gone missing; his cousins he had never seen again: but the Bradfords were toughened farmers and military men. Of all people, they should have survived the apocalypse.

It had been twenty years since he last spoke to his family. Why was he thinking of them now?

 _You’re not alone, uncle John_! He thought he heard a young girl cry.

Bradford spun around, almost knocking over a stack of crates. “Who’s there?” he asked. But of course, no one responded.

“The aliens continue to make progress on the Avatar Project,” he told himself. “We’ve got three days. We need to make them count."

" _Make sure our sacrifice was worth something_ ," Yamani - long dead on Operation Gatecrasher – said.

He looked around the room, heart pounding away in his ears. Of course, there was no one there. Probably his lack of sleep. Or his blood pressure was through the roof, and this was just a near death experience before he collapsed of a heart attack. Those happened, right?

"…I need a fucking drink.”

 

* * *

“I don’t know, John,” Evelyn said. The closed, cramped cavern that created this cell’s resistance comms cast the head of the Ozerna survivors was cast into shadow. Her voice bounced around the empty room. “After the last time…”

He could smell the crumbling stone as the last XCOM base came crashing down, hear the screams of the pinned and the shots as the ADVENT soldiers methodically executed the survivors.

 “Things are better,” he insisted. “We have the Commander now. We’ve hit over fifteen facilities, three train raids, and we’ve united six countries worth of Resistance groups. Hell, we’ve taken some of ADVENT’s own and turned it right back at them. If you can shelter sixty refugees even for a month–”

Evelyn shook her head. “You go on and on about your Commander. You lost the first–“

“We lost, because the damn countries couldn’t get their shit together and trust us,” Bradford snapped. “We were the only ones on the globe to make _any_ sort of progress, and my Commander spearheaded it–“

“There you go again.” Evelyn sighed. “Don’t bother getting our hopes up, John. We’ve been disappointed before.”

“Will you take the refugees?”

“Not willingly,” Evelyn said, crossing her arms, “but you clearly want us to _kumbaya_ and pretend we’ve got the slightest chance.”

 

* * *

“Two days left,” Mu Lan muttered. Her fingers tapped away at the Comms station. “ _Zao ya, zao ya, zao peng you_. _Xiao lang zao de yi ge hao peng you_. We need a psionic teacher, come on. Someone has to be out there. _Zao ya, zao–"_

Ruby walked closer to the Comms station. Ruby wanted to test the very valuable Crescent Rose’s bullets on ADVENT’s Dust-infused armor. The Commander had approved her project, but had advised her to seek Mu Lan's approval. " _She knows your Remnant stuff better than I_ ," he had said.

Mu Lan kept chanting the refrain. It sounded a bit like a nursery rhyme, in the native tongue of Ruby’s father. She didn’t notice Ruby’s approach.

The red-cloaked reaper poked the elder woman in the back. Mu Lan didn’t respond.

“Uh, sir?” Ruby asked.

Mu Lan whirled around, hand flying to the knife at her belt. She eased upon seeing Ruby. “Oh, is it about the armor? The Commander sent me the run-down. It sounds like an excellent idea.”

“Good to go, Tangent, sir!” Ruby chirped. She saluted for good measure. “Um, who were you talking to?”

The elder woman shrugged. “Trying to find some old friends. We could use more scientists and engineers.”

“And they’d recognize your song?”

“If they were still alive, yes.” The screen behind her crackled into the image of a young, swarthy-skinned woman. Mu Lan smiled apologeticlaly. “If you’ll excuse me. I need some privacy."

Ruby nodded and ducked out as Mu Lan said, "Padma, good to see you. I want to talk to you later about evac routes. Could you get me Gemma?"

There was the pattering of small feet. “Ms. Mu Lan!” a small girl cried. “Hiya! Daddy’s busy with work again. But if you want, I can go get him,”

“Hi, Gemma. Well, today I wanted to talk to you. Have you been practicing like I asked?”

 

* * *

 The armor plates and Kevlar jacket glowed bright white, surrounded by tiny glyphs that spun and twirled in the air around them.

Ice sang through the Heiress’s veins. It felt like a lonely mansion on a hill, filled with her song and her sister’s sarcasm: home, but not quite. The sensation faded as her glyphs dissipated, but the loneliness still stayed on her skin like an autumn chill.

“Holy shit.” Fong gaped at the test chamber. “Did you just…”

Weiss rapped her knuckles against the armor. The plates had completely fused to the fabric.

“One down,” she sighed, wiping her hands clean with a towel, “five more sets to go. How’s your hand doing?”

“Three is plenty,” Fong said, demonstrating the use of all three right fingers and his thumb. “What’s important is that I can still flip off this stupid armor.”

As if on cue, the armor and Kevlar jacket defused. The alloy plate clunked almost comically on the test-chamber floor.

 

* * *

“I hear the 1812 Overture,” Provenza nearly sang, lifting the completed Bluescreen Rounds high into the air. “And the Hallelujah chorus! It’s beautiful!”

“Put that down before it explodes and you lose an eye,” Chastain chided from the other end of the workshop. Her voice was partially muffled by the blast suit padding out her body. “Or blow up this entire ship.”

“Thanks mom,” Ruby said. She could’ve cried with joy. After hours at the forge, melting ADVENT alloys into finicky little components, the Bluescreen Rounds were ready for deployment. “All right, let’s test these sweeties!”

“Ladies first,” Provenza said, handing her a mag-rifle as they went to the testing range. “And don’t forget ear protection.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.” Ruby tapped the foam pads lining her ears. After a few days at XCOM, she had become accustomed to loading her new weapons. The Bluescreen rounds easily slot into the rifle. She took aim at an old GREMLIN prototype that was hovering about mid-range. “Is Shen okay with this?”

“It’s a Mk I, we’ve upgraded to Mk. II,” Provenza said with a shrug. “No other way to see if these rounds work.”

Ruby focused on the broken GREMLIN. She breathed in, then out, and pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

It was almost like a dance, Weiss mused as she slicked the plate with Viper glue once again. A delicate one, involving precision on a milimolar scale, but a dance of light fingers and steady hands nonetheless.

She conjured a red-black repulsion glyph. Between the glyph’s outer and inner rings, gravity was crushing the armor plate and nanoscale plate together. There was as much contact as she could manage. It was now, or never.

Weiss let a spark of Aura drift through her veins, steady as a glacier creeping over rock. It meandered down her fingers to the armor sandwich. She pulled and prodded with her armor, twisting forming Dust crystals this way and that. The crystals weren’t singing, but they were vibrating well enough to attract each other.

The Dust Mage relieved the glyph after 2.03 minutes. Any longer had a bad habit of disintegrating that trial.

“Could you have a look, Dr. Fong?” Weiss asked, holding up Trial 78. To the naked eye, the ADVENT plates had seamlessly bonded to the nanoscale fabric. But Weiss wouldn’t be satisfied until her work proved that it could handle being under fire. After all, her friends would be wearing her work.

Dr. Fong set Trial 78 in the gun chamber, then rigged the rifle to fire.

Weiss held her breath.

Sparks flashed over the plate’s front as the rifle fired.

The magnetically slung pellets hadn’t even scratched the surface.

“I think we’re getting somewhere,” Dr. Fong said.

 

* * *

“Huh. That’s interesting,” Ruby said.

“Words to fear. What’s going to explode now?” Weiss asked as she walked over to the firing range. “I would like to avoid replacing another lab coat, if you please.”

“Well… Crescent Rose’s bullets ignite the Dust,” Ruby said, pointing down range at the flaming flak jacket. “And the bullet only has Gravity Dust for a kick. So yeah… I don’t know if I wanna wear stuff that’s more volatile than my sis.”

“Have you tried remote firing Crescent Rose?” Weiss asked.

“Yup! It doesn’t catch on fire that way.” Rose scratched her head. “But if there are Vipers running around with Aura, it doesn’t look so good.”

Weiss called over Dr. Tygan to explain the situation.

“It seems we may want to only armor Remnant operatives with this,” Tygan said after a while. “The Dust reaction is troubling, with Aura-sensitive aliens around… But I worry that this Dust will react even stronger with plasma fire. I doubt it would improve morale if the armor had a chance of setting one on fire.”

“Could you just glue on plates without the Dust for, you know, non-Remnant people?” Ruby asked.

“I suppose it will have to do,” Tygan said, “though I doubt our operatives will be enthused at wearing both nanoscale and alien armor.”

“Better red than dead!” Fong called from halfway across the lab.

 

* * *

“It’s beautiful.” Kelly lifted the armored flak jacket to the ceiling. It was only ADVENT armor glued to a nanoscale vest by non-Auric Viper venom, but it was better than the Kevlar vests XCOM had proudly worn for the past 3 months. She winced as the movement pulled on her bad shoulder. “I feel like Rafiki. Where’s the soundtrack when we need it?”

“ADVENT’s red is kinda ugly,” Yang said, “could use some spray-paint.”

“Don't go overboard," Central said, "you still aren't allowed to deploy in hot pink."

“Hey guys! Guys!” Ruby cried as she came racing into the armory, a briefcase securely tucked under her arm. “Look what we made!”

“Better guns?” Weiss asked, looking up from Tygan's handiwork.

“A way to shut down Sectopods for good,” Provenza said as he opened his own case. “Meet the Bluescreen rounds, your best friend against electronic enemies.”

 

* * *

The bar was packed with XCOM soldiers drinking the last of the Romanian cell’s vodka. Blake had not partaken in the festivities, and so was watching Odinson stagger about with a hint of horror and amusement. She was content to work on the propaganda posters Kundi had passed her. Ruby sat in the corner, chatting Langlade's ears off with stories of Dust-infused weapons and killing giant Grimm.

“Any luck on the glyphs?” Yang yelled, crammed in between the memento case and the bar. She was barely audible over the strains of Novik’s caterwauling karaoke.

Weiss shook her head. “I can conjure some basic ones. But advanced ones, like a repulsion glyph large enough to lift me– that needs Dust. And unless I can purify the Dust we’ve found…”

Yang sighed. “Guess you won’t be coming out with us. Shame. It could’ve been Mountain Glenn all over again.”

“I seem to remember you were almost murdered by a psychopathic ice-cream themed midget,” Blake said. “Oddly fond memories.”

“Also met my mom!” Yang said, “through a partial hallucination!”

“We have got to get you a more stable family,” Weiss mused.

Yang grabbed Blake and Weiss into a bear hug. “Welp, guess what I just found? The best team ever!” She made grabby hands at the air. “Lemme go find Ruby, she needs to join in on this team hug.”

“The things we put up with for love,” Blake said, ruffling Yang’s golden locks.

 

* * *

The Armory was filled with newly-polished guns and full stacks of ammo. Bradford had ensured the Skyranger was loaded with the Bluescreen Rounds and EMP grenades. All XCOM soldiers’ guns were outfitted with Engineer Rose’s improved scopes. The newest plated armors were all spray-painted to take off the ADVENT aesthetic and fitted to their newest wearers: Xiao Long, Belladonna, and guinea-pig Vespara, who was surprisingly at ease with the idea that he could burst into flames if a specialized Viper took a shot at him. The team even had a Skulljack to attempt breaching the ADVENT network.

“Skyranger’s fueled up,” Bradford muttered, checking it off his tablet, “Firebrand is fully rested and ready to go, squad is assembled…” He looked up at his Commander. “We are ready to move on your orders.”

The Commander nodded. “Let’s fly to the Kazakhstan Steppes.”

Bradford stole a glance at the Avatar Project timer on his tablet.

8 hours left to go.

 _Fucking finally_ , he thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: At long last, XCOM assaults the Blacksite, and discovers the horrible truth there:
> 
> ADVENT has terrible aesthetic taste. I mean, red and black? Obvious Evil Overlord colors much?


	22. Operation: Dream Land Pt.I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> XCOM finally moves to assault the ADVENT Blacksite at their typical snail's pace. Oddly enough, Bradford's blood pressure refuses to go down.

The wind slid sharp nails against any sliver of skin unlucky enough to be exposed, but it hid Blake’s trajectory through the dense brush and grassland. Thick clouds of dust gathered over the horizon as the wind stirred up the bone-dry plains. Angry black clouds rolled overhead on a rollicking parade that threatened rain. A woolen scarf over her nose and mouth muffled her breath. It smelt faintly of antiseptic and the AWC. She ran through the pre-mission brief, as she crept through the tall goldenrod grass bent in two by the wind.

 

“Our contacts in the area have shown us how to access the ADVENT Blacksite.” Central had tapped the hologram of the surrounding area: it looked fairly nondescript, with a big fat square to represent the facility and dotted lines to represent transportation routes. “The aliens worked hard to keep this place under the radar and we don’t know what we’re going to find there. Keep your heads up, stick to the brush, and expect heavy opposition.”

“From my experience, there should be six or seven Sectopods on site,” Mu Lan had said to the general horror of everyone else in the room. “This is a priority site. What is done here is irreversible and unreplicatable. It will have the highest security of any facility we’ve encountered.”

“Any Grimm?” Menace 1-5, Captain Braun had asked. If everything went south and they were left behind, Braun would have to lead them to the nearest Resistance settlement. “If I’m leading the rooftop assault, I’d like at least one Huntress with me.”

“Doubtful,” Mu Lan said. “The Grimm are uncontrollable beasts. Unwise to have them around sensitive experiments. Any other questions?”

"No, sir," the Menace team chorused.

“Xiao Long, you’re with Ohuruogu and Teuku. Devgan will lead your Sword team,” Central had said. “Vespara, Belladonna and Fleury, you’re with Braun on Ghost team.”

“Use your codenames,” Mu Lan reminded them. “You’re in the beast’s lair. ADVENT has access to everyone in the cities. Anyone with your last name could face reprisal.

“Shut that place down,” Central had said, and then the Menace team ascended into the Skyranger.

 

On the Kazakhstani steppes, the Cat Faunus scouted for enemies. She doubted that the aliens could have kept this facility's doings secret for long: the lack of intelligence seemed more like a failure to communicate between Resistance members… or ADVENT's security was good enough to kill any scouts.

 _Should probably pay more attention to avoid turning into cat food_ , Blake decided.

The Blacksite sat like an ominous black mountain: like the thunderclouds overhead, the facility dented the afternoon horizon. Thick smoke billowed from the chimneys, clogging the air with its poisonous breath. ADVENT's logo loomed proudly over strange green glowing smears barely visible amongst the tall grass.

“Think they spot us, Blakey?” Yang asked, her voice crackling with wind-derived static.

“1-1 to you,” Blake mumbled to avoid whispering. That would carry sibilant syllables that any eavesdropper could pick up. “No patrol yet.”

“Movement on my right,” Fleury said from somewhere across the field. “…Nope, just bushes. Don’t see any black, probably not a trooper.”

“Could be a Viper,” Braun said. “Zero, send WALL-E over.”

The GREMLIN hummed as it flew over to the designated area. “Clear,” Devgan reported after a moment. “Tracks look pretty old. They’re all mushed up and crumbled.”

“Bootprints,” Central said over the com. “ADVENT Troopers only. Seems like there’s no MECs on patrol.”

“There should be at least five roving patrols in the area,” Mu Lan added. “I’m unsure of the composition, but I suspect them to be troopers.”

“Wonderful,” Ohuruogu chirped, “I’d love to get new armor.”

“We won’t have the time to drag the bodies back,” Teuku said, “unless you’re a quick looter.”

“Concentrate on the mission, guys,” Devgan said, sounding increasingly irritated with every word. “Central, I’m following the railroad tracks down. We have eyes on the facility, and no patrols in site.”

“We’ve confirmed the Blacksite is in your immediate vicinity,” Central said. “Infiltrate and investigate the area. Expect heavy resistance, neutralize all hostile contacts.”

“No, really?” Fleury muttered. “Old man’s going blind.”

“Kinda hard to miss it when it’s _right there_ ,” Ohuruogu agreed. “ADVENT could’ve at least tried to blend in.”

Blake crawled closer. There was the sickly sweetness of rotting flesh and the sting of electricity in the wind. “Maybe if they sank it into the ground,” she suggested. "They'd hide the smell that way."

“And do our work for us?” Vespara asked. “Since when have we ever been that lucky?”

“Little grass here and there, some vines on the roof, really just _plant_ it into the land,” Yang said. “They’d avoid sowing seeds of dissent that way.”

“Not going to acknowledge those puns, Lyra,” Yang’s squad leader said. “Lights Out, any patrols in sight?”

“Nothing.” Braun sighed. “Your heat scans show anything?”

“Nope,” Devgan replied. “ADVENT’s upgraded their armor. 1-1, eyes or ears?”

“We’re in–“ Blake’s ears twitched. She turned. A Viper’s hooded head loomed out of the rustling grasses. “I’ve got one Viper, a hundred meters away, sitting in the grass. No signs of any other patrols. Not sure how your scans passed it up.”

“Snakes and other reptiles are ectotherms!” Ohuruogu said. “Their body temp is the same as their surroundings.”

Central’s voice hissed over the radio. “Shen, take note. That’s a huge oversight.”

“Thank you, Pandora, for the science lesson. Sword team, group up on Devgan. Prepare for the distraction with your grenades,” Mu Lan said. “Ghost team: on the signal, infiltrate the facility. Here’s the plan.”

 

* * *

“Pandora, pipe down,” Bradford snapped. “Keep the airwaves clear.”

“But sir, something’s really wrong. Why haven’t the Resistance guys that found this place tried to attack it?” Ohuruogu continued as the Sword team waited for Devgan’s report. The ADVENT troopers were still out of sight, but Yang’s flares would quickly fix that problem. “Nobody found this suspici–“

“Um, Central… found someone.” Teuku’s voice shook as his body cam focused on the mangled body of a human female. Dried skin was stretched tight over her screaming cheeks, and her eyes had sunken. Maggots crawled in and out of the gaping wounds in her chest that had yet not dried up. A simple pistol lay in the dust, sides scorched with plasma burns. “Uh, I… I don’t know how old this is, but I… I think I know why the Resistance had to wait for us to bring this place down.”

To the left of the Hologlobe, Tygan nodded. “If the Resistance fighters were killed here, they would never have the opportunity to provide plans of the area.”

“…Can’t be right,” Bradford said. He flipped through the Mole's notes. “Several cells reported assailing the area and failing. Papillon even sent facility plans that look like this place.”

"Something isn't adding up," Shen said. "Why is there so much misinformation?"

Silence fell over the Hologlobe. Bradford gritted his teeth. Papillon wasn’t based in the cities: he or she was a mobile spy unit working in the slums. But if their informant had betrayed them…

“We can do nothing more right now,” the Commander said. “It can’t hurt you, Dynamite. Keep moving.”

“Lights Out to Command, Ghost Team in position,” Braun reported. He had clambered onto the Blacksite’s roof, overlooking a railway that split the plains in half. “1-1 taking point on the ground. Guess we know where all those trains are going.”

A broad throughway, bordered by train tracks on each side, led up to the facility’s main doors. The ADVENT Administration symbol, a white eye in the billowing smoke and black façade, glared down at the luminescent green containers stacked up between the fences. Each stack had at least four containers, each positioned perpendicular to another in a herringbone pattern. Bradford faintly recognized the stacks from the Commander’s rescue: but here, it was black honeycomb frames that held tubes with glowing green fluid within, not spiderwebbed. Dark humanoid shapes still floated within the light.

 _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_. Bradford's scarred shoulder twinged.

“Fleury, scan the containers for explosives,” the Commander said.

JNX-R flew over, Fleury hot in its wake. Shen brought up her tablet, reading the inputs from the GREMLIN.

“No signs of tampering, and no signs of life,” the Chief Engineer said. “It’s safe to approach and open.”

"If this gives me cancer, XCOM better have insurance," Fleury muttered. She turned a pinwheel shaped gear on the side.

The light from within the container dimmed.

Bradford stared at the twisted black body, once concealed within the green goop that made up its coffin, now visible to the naked eye. Hints of blue fabric melted to its charred body would occasionally float to the sides of the container. It was a small body, no bigger than that of a six-year old girl.

He thought of his niece Emily, arms burnt until the bone showed through charcoal flesh, permanently fused to her Elsa dress in a deathly embrace.

“Dear God above,” Tygan said.

Fleury choked. Belladonna made similar gagging noises. The wind must have changed direction, for within a few minutes, all of the Menace team was coughing. Fleury slammed the container shut. "It smells like it's been in there for ages!"

The Central Officer restrained the urge to hurl. It could be her. ADVENT couldn't leave damn well enough.

“Hold on,” Shen said, “are those–?”

“Bodies. The containers, the trains… this entire facility.” Bradford gripped the railing of the Hologlobe. All that time they had spent dawdling, armoring their soldiers… how many lives had been lost? “The aliens are still abducting people. From the looks of it, they may never have stopped after the invasion.”

Shen looked at her tablet again. “Signal’s poor,” she murmured, “might be a storm on a way.” She looked back at the Hologlobe feed. “Those containers look like they might have self-contained power cells. It could be some sort of stasis system. It’s possible that at least some of those people may be alive.”

Fleury backed away. Her helmet smacked into another coffin. A man’s face suddenly loomed onto the Hologlobe’s feed. His chest appeared to rise and fall in the slow cadence of life.

“Odin,” the Commander whispered. She straightened up. “Shrike, continue to your position.”

“ _Krijg de kanker_ ,” Fleury muttered. “Sir, he – holy shit, he blinked! I think he’s alive!”

“Continue to your position. Sword Team is waiting for you.”

“We can rescue him,” Fleury argued, “sir, if he’s alive, we’ve got to get him out of there!”

“You’ll set off alarms, Shrike.” The Commander’s voice grew sharp. “Follow my orders.”

“Sir, not my place to argue,” Braun said as he tuned in, “but if there’s people alive in there, we might not want to blow this place to hell. We could set up a rescue mission.”

“I’m telling you, he won’t be in any condition to move,” the Commander snapped. “ADVENT won’t waste those resources on the abducted.”

“Please, Commander,” Ohuruogu begged, “we’ve got to find out the truth.”

Bradford stayed silent. On one hand, it was his duty to enforce the Commander’s orders. On the other… well, it was also XCOM’s duty to rescue anyone they found from ADVENT’s clutches if it was tactically useful. This facility had hundreds of people, hundreds of potential soldiers.

It also could hold the body of his niece.

The Commander pinched the bridge of her nose. “1-1, go help Shrike,” the Commander ordered. “Lights Out, eyes on Belladonna’s former position. Dynamite, Lyra: please set up more explosives at Four of Hearts then evacuate to Two of Hearts. The Ghost team will need the distraction.”

Over the radio, he could hear uneasy grumblings from the rest of the Menace Team.

“Keep the air clear, Menace 1-5,” Bradford warned, “you’re still in enemy territory. ADVENT is still listening.’

 

Belladonna crept over from her position near the railway. She cranked open the next coffin. Slowly, the honeycomb framing retracted into the black metal base. The plexiglass container front slid open.

The man was Chinese, no older than 40 at most, but he looked decades younger suspended in the green luminescent fluid. His dark brown eyes were frozen open in ceaseless terror. They flicked to Belladonna, then to Fleury, then to the GREMLIN floating over Fleury’s shoulder. His limbs floated, locked in twisted positions.

“We’re here to help. Blink once if you can hear me,” Fleury said.

Slowly, the prisoner blinked.

“Are you in pain?” the Cat Faunus asked. “Once for yes, two for no.”

Another single blink.

"How long have you been here?" Fleury asked. "Do you know?"

Two blinks.

Frustration filtered into Fleury’s voice. “Blink once if you want us to rescue you, twice if not.”

The man's eyes fluttered as he blinked hard.

“You don’t want to be rescued?” Fleury asked. “But we can help you!”

He blinked once.

“So… you want to die?” Belladonna asked.

He blinked once, then kept his eyes closed.

Bradford looked to his superior for directions.

She looked about three seconds away from crying, but her voice was steady as she spoke. “1-1, group up with Whistle. Lights Out, do you have a bead on his position?”

“Yes, sir,” Braun responded.

“Put him out of his misery. It’s the least we can do for him.”

“B-but Commander!” Fleury protested. “We–“

“Please follow his wishes,” the Commander said softly. “We can’t help him anymore. 1-1, group up with Pandora.” She tapped her throat mike to broadcast to all XCOM channels. “All units: we’re going hot in five. Dynamite and Lyra, change of plans: at the sound of the rifle, detonate the trap.”

 

As Belladonna and Fleury crept off, Braun steadied his rifle on the ADVENT facility railing. His finger closed around the trigger. In a spray of green fluid and scarlet blood, the prisoner was gone.

Alarms wailed, but the Ghost Team was ready.

A massive explosion rocked the east side of the facility, ruining the railway tracks and throwing great clods of dried grass and clouds of dust in every direction. The Hologlobe’s feeds shook with static. Ohuruogu and Belladonna charged between the containers, zipping in and out of cover as they went straight to the heart of the facility.

“Engaging hostiles!” Teuku yelled. His rifle spat hot metal at the ADVENT Troopers converging on his location. “We’ve bought you ten minutes!”

Metal whirred and clanked from the Blacksite's East side. A good chunk of the wall burst into rubble as a Sectopod rose from the ground.

"I've got Sectopods!" Braun yelled. "Deploying Bluescreen rounds now!"

"Invading ADVENT's systems!" Fleury said. "I'll try to shut their alarms down!"

Thunder rumbled overhead. As XCOM delved deeper into that horrible facility, fat droplets of rain began to soak into the thirsty ground.

A storm was coming.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Midterm season hit hard and fast. At least they had the decency to spread it out to a midterm a week, rather than clumping them all together like the tight junctions in cell-cell adhesions! Oh, histology. Always a bundle of fun.
> 
> Next chapter: We didn't start the fire! It was always burning, since the world was turning!
> 
> Fleury's dialogue: translated, it means "get cancer."


	23. Operation: Dreamland Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blake and Yang consider complaining to XCOM's tech support about shitty radio connection. XCOM Command questions the decision to send a highly flammable person to a tinder-box terrain, and nobody quite knows what's going on.

Blake and Ohuruogu battered their way into the facility. Despite Fleury deactivating the alarms, the ADVENT troopers still had ears. Gambol Shroud and the Arc Blade tore apart black-armored ADVENT grunts. XCOM’s objective was a good fifty-meters ahead, and under heavy guard.

 _Mu Lan, you couldn’t have attacked this place when it was less guarded?_ The Cat Faunus grumbled to herself. _You just had to wait until the last minute. Like Yang before her homework’s due. Really. And now we’re all going to die._

“You stop that now,” Ohuruogu muttered as her glowing machete slashed through another Sectoid. The psionic glow around its arm dissipated. “1-1, how'ya holding up?”

Blake brought up her shotgun and fired at the ADVENT Stunlancer charging towards her. Even at point-blank range, all the pellets missed.

“Farewell, physics,” she growled before drawing Gambol Shroud. She cast out the long blade and swung it through the air. Gouts of orange blood splashed out of the Stunlancer’s chest. “I’m not hurt.” She switched channels. “Contacts five meters on my left, a group of MECs.”

“Whistle, regroup with Lights Out,” Mu Lan ordered, “and shut down the pod.”

“Alarms disabled,” Fleury said, “but only for three minutes. Infiltrating the compound.”

“How– Menace 1-5, you’ve got three Sectopods on approach! Set the trap!” Central demanded.

“Shrike, enter from the roof,” Mu Lan continued. “1-1, Pandora, run to the target. Lights Out and Whistle, cover 1-1 and Pandora.”

Blake summoned her Aura and shed clones from her body that darted around the Sectopod’s legs. The Sectopod whirred and fired on her, but the Cat Faunus kept dancing out of reach. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ohuruogu sprinting towards the red-gated facility doors.

Explosions rocked the earth to the east. After a long moment, the Sectopod tromped off. But it did not go unreplaced – MECs piled out of the facility doors to cover the breech. The Cat Faunus gritted her teeth. She ducked low behind a coffin, narrowly escaping a MEC’s deadly spray. The bullets shattered the glass container. Green liquid spewed out, adding to the rain that slickened the tiled ground.

 _Clear a path_ , she chanted to herself _, I don’t care what happens to me. I’ve got to get Yang back home._

 

* * *

The satellite antenna spun like a leaf caught in the wind, black blocky dish twirling round and round. Fleury had hacked it to provide Devgan with the Ghost team's video feed. It wasn’t looking good. XCOM had pissed off three additional Sectopods standing guard on the facility’s outskirts. If it weren’t for the convenient distraction outside the facility, all of Sword Team would have been minced meat.

Unfortunately, Yang’s chances of becoming a component of an ADVENT burger increased with alarming speed. Platoons of Mutons accompanied the three advancing Sectopods, roaring and beating their fists against the chests.

Teuku had spooked once and wasted a pack of ammo on a dead Muton that absolutely had to die again. The other grenadier was now crawling in the dirt setting up EMP grenades he had jury-rigged into mines. Fat drops of rain slowly thickened the dirt into mud that sucked at Teuku’s pants and boots.

Devgan hid in the tall grass and relayed his GREMLIN to shock the Sectopod. WALL-E was a nimble little robot who dodged most of the Mutons’ shots, but burns littered its carapace. When WALL-E flew back, Devgan would call out the minutes until Blake and Ohuruogu reached the target.

Yang punched herself in the stomach. She glowed in the billowing darkness, a clear target for the bulk of ADVENT’s security. The Mutons roared their challenge and fired in her direction.

The golden brawler loaded up her launcher and fired back at the Mutons. The grenade bounced and hit a cluster of Mutons. Some roared in pain, but none dropped dead. The Mutons fanned out to avoid further grenades. Devgan dissuaded them by spraying to their sides and shocking non-compliant ones into an orderly platoon.

“Wait for them to bunch up,” Central advised. Yang scowled as she readied her grenades. “You’ve got limited supplies.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a Huntress, I know the drill,” Yang muttered. She loaded up a fresh High Explosive grenade. “I’ve only fought monsters the size of freaking mountains. What would I know?”

“You’re preparing for a siege, Lyra,” Mu Lan said. “Make sure you can cover 1-1’s escape.”

Yang launched the grenade. If her goal was to shower the incoming Mutons in clods of dirt, then she certainly succeeded.

 _Mu Lan’s never going to shut up about this_ , Yang thought as she swapped her launcher for her rifle. _Or Odinson, or Devgan, or anyone who saw that mess._

“At least it wasn’t a rocket launcher,” she heard Central whisper to Mu Lan.

“Rub it in, wontcha?” Yang grumbled as she fired on the horde. She pestered the Mutons into grouping up.

“Switching to HE!” Teuku cried.

On his cry, Yang returned to her launcher and unleashed molten, High Explosives hell upon the Mutons. The beasts roared as they died: she quivered and stood stock still as fear washed over her, but then Teuku was there, pushing her flat to the ground, and mud flew everywhere.

The golden brawler risked a glance. Had she still been standing, the Sectopod’s fire would have chewed her up.

“Come on, let’s go!” Teuku said, tugging her into the long grass. He fumbled a grenade into his launcher – the shards of metal shredded the Sectopod’s armor and lobbed it at a group of stragglers. “We gotta regroup near the train!”

The first Sectopod stepped on an EMP mine. Electricity sprouted from the ground, like an inverse lightning-bolt, and fried the mechanical monstrosity. The other Sectopods rose high on their legs in an attempt to avoid the sparks flying from their downed brethren. Another chicken-walker stepped on two mines, and fell to the electrical onslaught.

The surviving Mutons panicked. One brilliant Muton dropped a grenade at its feet.

Though it didn’t down the Sectopod, the Muton did manage a magnificent six-team kill.

She thought she heard Central say something, but his voice was blurred so heavily by static that it might as well have been the wind in her ears.

“To the train, to the train,” Yang chanted. The Sectopod’s guns chattered behind them. “Gotta protect Blake, gotta protect Blake.”

 

* * *

“Shrike, let’s see what you can get from that terminal,” Bradford ordered. His eyes strained from the stress of looking at sixteen different cameras at the same time, but he rubbed them and pressed on. Fleury was currently in a long hall filled with tables and subjects hooked up to wires and many, many screens. This wing of the Blacksite seemed to host its mainframe. “ADVENT’s got some answering to do.”

“There should be scientists here,” Dr. Tygan said, “unless they have automated the dissection process.”

“Or they could be on those damn tables,” Shen piped up.

The Commander didn’t seem to notice their chatter. She was occupied with ordering the sniper duo and the explosives team around.

“Annd… I’m in,” Fleury said. “Got a bunch of files, but no goodies. It’s all locked up and JNX-R can’t touch it. Relaying it to Firebrand.”

Bradford could have sworn that JNX-R emitted a sad beep.

“Getting the package from Firebrand, Central,” Shen said from her position at the Hologlobe. Her tablet lit up as it verified the Skyranger’s ID. “Connection’s a little slow.”

“See any live ones?” the Central Officer asked as Fleury passed by dissection tables. Unlucky patients lay on their surfaces, torsos splayed open like a butterfly in a frame. The humans had been strapped to the table with metal restraints. Dead men didn’t need restraints that thick.

“No,” Fleury gagged. “It just smells sweet. Like syrup.”

“Keep moving, Shrike,” the Commander said beside him. “Group up with Ohuruogu and Belladonna. They’re almost at the target.”

“I can’t breathe,” Fleury whimpered. “It’s so strong.”

“Ohuruogu and Blake are outside,” the Commander said. A faint bluish tinge suffused the air. “Can you hear the storm? It smells like fresh rain. You can make it. Keep moving.”

Fleury kept whimpering, but she managed to leave that dreaded hall, only to enter yet another hallway of ADVENT’s atrocities.

“I have to mine this too,” she said in disbelief. “JNX-R, what did we get ourselves into?”

JNX-R beeped and began to interface with the nearest terminal.

 

* * *

Yang loved explosions. Trains, a little less. However, after the second train in a row had just blown up, she was less inclined to like either.

At least the trains were about fifty meters away from the Blacksite. Braun and Vespara could provide fire support: for Ghost Team fighting flesh-and-bone soldiers, and Sword Team battling against the mechanical guards. Yang could almost see Blake tugging Gambol Shroud from a Viper’s chest. She smiled to herself: it was like long ago on Initiation day at Beacon, when Blake stabbed an Ursa in the back to gain Yang’s attention. Some things never changed.

“Oh god. There’s even more Sectopods coming!” Teuku yelled, bolting in the other direction. Yang’s nostalgia quickly dissipated. She brought up her assault rifle and fired at the newly awakened Sectopods. “Sir, there’s no cover in sight!”

Central said something, but it was lost in static and the boom of thunder.

“Great, now we’re losing contact with HQ!” Teuku hopped from cover to cover like a chicken with its head cut off. “Could this day get any worse?”

“Hide in the crater!” Devgan suggested as he sprinted towards the flaming train wreck. Steam rose as rain evaporated in the heat of the fire.

“Are - you - fucking - nuts?!” Teuku panted as he scrabbled for purchase on a wall bordering the Blacksite. Braun dissuaded a Sectopod from taking a potshot with a Bluescreen round to the head. “Don’t – wanna – die – on a – silver – platter!”

“I’ll take it!” Yang said, and dove into the wreckage.

Mu Lan said something, but the static and rushing wind killed her voice.

Yang’s armor protested as battered metal and flaming crates bashed against it. She ducked under a metal rod and hid from the Sectopod’s chattering guns.

Then she felt it. The glow of Dust.

Yang stamped out the fires on a patch of dirt. She scrabbled at them and uncovered a few precious, precious vials of Fire and Ice Dust.

“If that’s Dust,” Mu Lan suddenly cut in, “please don’t use it on the Sectopods. They might be reinforced with Dust. Save it for when you come back.”

Yang reluctantly conceded the point, and carefully threaded the vials into her belt. Raw Dust was powerful, but it was better used in bullets or armor. She glared at the stupid hulking mechs in the distance. Raindrops thudded down her hair: some boiled on contact, and others soaked into her orange scarf.

The Sectopod fired on Teuku’s position. It missed the wall and hit the Blacksite itself. The front of the building crumbled, revealing cracked green tanks and sparking computer banks.

“Maybe we should wait for ADVENT to destroy its own work,” Braun suggested as he reloaded and shot the Sectopod.

“Can you help us first?” Teuku yelled. “I’m out of grenades!” He wove in between crates and cars to circle around the Sectopod and shoot at its back.

“This is gonna sound real dumb,” Devgan said on Yang’s channel, barely audible over the whistle of wind and rain, “but I need you to climb that Sectopod.”

“You said dumb, not suicidal!” Yang yelled back. “You and Teuku both got the EMP grenades!”

“I’m all out!” Devgan pointed above at the broiling black skies. “New plan. We’ll get the sky to shock it!”

“That’s stupid awesome! And suicidal!” Teuku offered. “Yang, you go do it!”

“Why am I volunteering?” Yang grumbled as she pulled a metal rod from the disintegrating train. “I don't remember signing up for this.”

“You’ve got the better armor!” both men chorused.

“Well, so do I,” Vespara said, “but I can’t exactly Superman my way over there. I can shoot if you need.”

Yang sighed and cracked her knuckles. “You better be ready to cover my ass!”

“On three,” Devgan said. He chucked a roll of tape over to Yang. She caught it in her free hand. “I’ll bait it, Dynamite and Whistle shoot, and you go climb it.

He counted down.

 

Yang sprinted for the Sectopod. She darted from side to side, flames trailing in her wake. The Sectopod fired at her – some bullets grazed her arm, but most thudded harmlessly in the broken railway tracks. Devgan’s GREMLIN buddy shocked the Sectopod, then hovered in front of the beast. Teuku ducked behind a flaming crate, fired, then ran for new cover before repeating the process.

The golden brawler leapt up to the side of an overturned train car. She meant to fire Ember Celica, but all the Dust Rounds were gone and replaced with terrestrial bullets that had half the recoil. She came a bit short and scrabbled for purchase on the wet roof. The Sectopod’s body turned to face her, but a well-placed shot to the knees from Vespara staggered the beast. Yang leapt from the roof onto the Sectopod. Luckily, there were no turrets mounted on the head to blast her to bits.

“This could be really stupid, or really cool,” Yang muttered as she shoved the iron rod down a missile launcher. She snagged a long length of duct tape and attempted to paste it down, but the slick metal didn’t accept the adhesive. Yang didn’t wait to see if it was well-secured: she ripped the loop of tape free, jumped down and surged into the ADVENT troops spilling out of the facility.

She fought on and on, fire broiling through her veins as she punched her way through MECs and Troopers alike. Smoke whirled around her as she scorched her way to the thoroughfare.

 _Gotta clear the way_ , Yang thought as she traded her gauntleted fists for the assault rifle on her back. _Blake’s depending on me. Everyone’s depending on me._

“Lyra, get inside!” Central suddenly shouted into her ear. Yang instinctively dropped to the ground out of surprise. The air was acrid with smoke. Fire was eating away at the destructive path she had wrought. “You’ve got–“

Her world went white. Thunder roared in the distance, cutting out Central’s words.

“Holy shit! It actually hit!” Yang faintly heard. “Praise be to the Great Commandy One!”

She came to consciousness slowly. The Sectopod with the impromptu lightning rod was a molten wreck. Its internal computers spat sparks and thin tongues of flame that ate away at the earth around it. Despite the rain, the fire burned bright white tinged with blue, characteristic of metal bonded to Electric Dust.

Yang immediately backed away.

 _Uh oh_.

The flames steadily grew, devouring every inch of plains in their path.

 _Oh shit_.

 

* * *

At the same time, Blake and Ohuruogu finally reached the inner sanctum of the facility. The double doors hissed open to reveal a high, vaulted-ceiling room. Darkness clung to the air: the only light came from the computer banks lining every wall and the glowing green monstrosity in the center of the room.

Black silhouettes of humans were trapped in cases barely wide enough to fit their bodies, stacked like alien popsicles in racks of four by two. All of the abductees had contorted in their stasis: some had limbs frozen in a last-ditch attempt to break their prisons. Others hung slack in the fluid, hands clasped over their chests, floating freely and peacefully – they clearly had not struggled. Still others were hunched over, as if caught mid-fight. But that wasn’t the worst. No, the worst was that some of the bodies had begun to disintegrate to the bone. A few corpses had lost all their flesh up to their hips, and their pelvises dangled from intact torsos. Others were mere bones glaring out from their tanks. Worst of all were the corpses that barely looked human anymore: all that Bradford could see were rounded blobs of skulls and the curved lilt of ribs. God, it just wasn’t right. These humans – his species, his people, possibly his family – were slotted in like specimens floating in alcohol-filled vials in some dusty museum drawer.

The Commander clutched the Hologlobe rail beside him. “ _Tai wan le_ ,” she murmured.

As Ohuruogu and Belladonna approached, the racks of tanks slowly slid into the water at their base. The process was obviously mechanized to the point that it had become some sort of gruesome art. Huge pipes appeared from their position between the tanks, like the aortas of some draconian monster. Red light bled in from the few windows that dotted the facility’s walls.

“So many victims, processed with such brutal efficiency,” Dr. Tygan said as they watched the green tanks sink into the murky waters. “Test subjects for some sort of weapon perhaps?”

“Looks more like a refinery to me,” Shen said.

The last rack of tanks settled into the water. At the very end of the chamber, there was a podium with a beacon of light projecting from the pedestal. It seemed to be a vial suspended in that lemon-green light.

“Quibble over the specifics after the team is back,” the Commander snarled. All eyes in the Hologlobe turned to her. Bradford raised an eyebrow at her outburst. His superior quickly regained her prim and proper poise and tapped her mike. “Lights Out, toss down a beacon. Zero, Lyra, run to Lights Out and prepare to evac in ten minutes.”

“Once we get our hands on that sample,” Bradford said with calm he did not feel, “we’ll know for sure.”

“It’s a purification centrifuge,” Tygan said. “I recognize it from my time with ADVENT.”

“Guessing that’s not water in there,” Bradford said. “Shen, any readings?”

“No signs of radioactivity, no significant energy signatures of any kind. Whatever it is, it’s safe to handle,” Shen reported.

Ohuruogu cautiously reached into the field of lemon-green light. Bradford winced, waiting for the inevitable electric shock. But the dark-skinned Ranger didn’t seem to notice: she wrapped her hand around the vial and withdrew it.

“You’ve got the shakes, 1-1,” Ohuruogu said as she held the vial out. “Everything okay?”

“Don’t say that,” Blake said, “that’s when everything goes wrong.”

“We’ve confirmed acquisition of the sample. Move to rendezvous at the extraction point,” Bradford said.

“Enemies coming in on our position!” Braun reported. “They’ve set down flares just outside!”

“GUYS. GUYS! EVERYTHING IS BURNING!” Yang helpfully added. “THERE’S A HUGE FIRE OUTSIDE!”

“We’re on the move,” Ohuruogu said. She stopped, and looked at one of the tanks. “My god… it’s Osei…”

Bradford’s chest seized, but he fought to stay calm. So ADVENT hadn't held up the fallen XCOM soldiers as citizens caught in the crossfire after all. It had shipped them here, to literally melt into obscurity.

“There’s nothing you can do. Menace 1-5, there’s ADVENT interceptors hot on your tail. Get to that EVAC point!”

"Was that a pun?" Yang panted, her camera shaking as she ran.

"Not the time!" the Central Officer snapped.

 

* * *

Outside, Yang and co. were running hell for leather to the EVAC point. It was an overhang of grey sandstone, a good visual marker for the Skyranger. The distance from the facility also meant that ADVENT couldn’t just shoot the Skyranger down with turrets. But now that they were running for their lives, Yang cursed the distance with all her being.

The interceptors dropped their cargo into the blazes, and XCOM was the recipient of a crash course on ADVENTian swearing. It was almost hilarious to listen to the panicked screaming. That is, it would have been hilarious, if XCOM’s men weren’t trying to avoid the same fate.

“ADVENT really doesn’t care about their men, do they?” Braun asked as he laid pistol shot after shot into the advancing wall of flaming troopers. Most of his shots whizzed harmlessly overhead, but the ones that did connect sent the troopers to a more peaceful death than they otherwise deserved.

Ohuruogu was running towards the EVAC point, Blake in her wake. The duo occasionally stopped to thin out the army chasing them.

The Skyranger loomed out of the storm, jets buffeting the team with backwash. Mud sucked at Yang’s boots. The wind drove hard needles of rain into her skin. And yet the fire raged, killing ADVENT and consuming the facility.

“In position!” Firebrand reported.

Ohuruogu ascended first, clutching something tightly to her chest. Teuku and Vespara followed soon after.

Braun was still on the ground, sniper rifle trained on the advancing Sectopod horde.

“Just go, just go!” he yelled to the remaining soldiers, finger glued to his trigger. Lightning broke across the sky, shattering the darkness. A roll of thunder drowned his next words. Braun loaded a Bluescreen round and sniped the nearest walking tank. The round barely glanced off the Sectopod’s carapace, but the electrical charge did its job.

“Sir! I’m getting a distress call– the fire trapped Shrike inside the facility!” Devgan reported.

“I’m fastest,” Blake immediately said, “I’ll go back to get her.”

“Permission granted,” Mu Lan said. “Go straight through the facility.”

Yang looked at the Cat Faunus, then leaned in and pecked her on the cheek.

“For luck,” the brawler said, before taking a stance and firing. “Guys! Hold the line!”

 

* * *

The sodden woolen scarf around her mouth and nose scratched her face, but it kept Blake from breathing pure smoke. Angry maws of flame advanced across the plains, puffing thick dark grey clouds into the facility. She could see them through the red-laser windows that conveniently let smoke pass through.

Blake scaled the first facility wall she found. The fire hadn’t consumed this area yet; Fleury might still be alive.

Central barked directions into her ear, though thunder and static constantly cut in and out of his voice: Fleury was in the west wing, second floor.

MECs and ADVENT troopers came to confront her, but Blake danced out of the way, leaving them to fire on her Shadow Clones. The facility was falling apart around her. She leapt over a chasm lit from below with green light – that had to be the refinery she had visited minutes before.

“You’re five meters away,” Central said, “but we can’t pinpoint the exact location.”

Blake leapt over another hole in the floor. She jumped yet once more, as the fire-weakened pillars gave way and a five-meter chunk of floor crumbled.

 _Keep breathing, and stay calm_ , she thought. Her eyes stung from the smoke. _You need to keep Yang safe. You need to keep your teammates safe._

Her keen ears picked up on the sound of ragged breaths – human, unlike the raspiness of ADVENT breathing filtered through their helmets or the hissing of Vipers.

The Cat Faunus followed the sound. It was loudest behind a door heated by fire. Blake tried the locks, but the electronic were fried. She wound up Gambol Shroud, and slashed the door. The metal crumpled beneath her strike.

The Specialist lay prone on the ground, in a room lined by tanks of humans suspended in green fluid. JNX-R sat by its technician, curled up into its portable form. The hallway behind her was littered with dead ADVENT soldiers. Fire licked at the walls. Most of the floor had already caved in, and if Fleury didn’t move, the fire would soon claim her as well.

“Damn it,” Central cursed, “security hit turned off the sprinklers as well. Smoke inhalation might have got her.”

“1-1, is there a pulse?” Mu Lan asked.

“Her chest’s moving,” Blake said as she dropped to her knees by Fleury’s side. “Can you walk?”

“Kinda. Hurts,” Fleury gasped. Blake immediately removed her scarf and wrapped it around the Specialist’s nose and mouth. She undid the scrap of ribbon around her cat ears, and used it to shield herself from the smoke. “Got a medkit. Can’t… can’t pull–“

“I’ve got it.” Blake deftly took the medkit and sprayed Fleury’s chest. The nanomachines worked their magic and formed a temporary seal on the wounds. She helped Fleury to her feet, though they both stayed low to avoid the clouds of smoke. “Lean on me. Let’s go.”

“Central, we can’t hold position much longer!” Firebrand cried. “The fire’s going to suck the O2 from the Skyranger!”

“One more minute,” Mu Lan said, “1-1, are you in position?”

Blake looked around. Most of the metal was useless, heat-stressed and pitted with bullets. It wouldn't support her weight. She focused on the rafter. It was still supported at three points, better than anything else she found within the Blacksite. “Found the perfect spot.”

“Trust me,” Mu Lan said. “You’re coming home, Fleury.”

“You got my back, 1-1?” Fleury asked, standing stiff as a corpse in rigor mortis. JNX-R wobbled in the air as it took flight once more. The GREMLIN was missing one repulsor foot, but it stayed close to its Specialist.

“We’re both getting out of here.” Blake held out her hand.

Fleury passed her the clip from the Specialist’s harness. The Cat Faunus attached the Specialist to her belt. Fleury closed her eyes, and gripped Blake’s waist with all her strength.

Blake wound up her arm, Gambol Shroud’s cleaver heavy in her hand. She tossed it, sinking Gambol Shroud into the crumbling rafters of the ADVENT Blacksite. She pulled the ribbon taut. The Cat Faunus jumped, using all of her momentum to swing across the chasm and onto the flaming ground. Troopers aimed skywards and shot at the duo. Some shots connected, scoring the XCOM soldiers’ bodies.

They hit the ground in a mess of limbs and GREMLIN. JINX-R buzzed unhappily.

 

“Need'ta… run…” Fleury slurred as she got to her feet.

Blake grabbed the Specialist’s hand, and bolted to the evac point thirty meters away. Fleury didn’t even resist – as they ran, Fleury’s sweat-slicked hand began to slip out of the Cat Faunus’s grip. Blake grabbed Fleury’s wrist and urged themselves forward.

“Central, we have to leave!” Firebrand said.

Blake’s legs ached and she longed to face plant in the mud, but death was hot on her tail.

Three meters… two meters…

“They’re here!” Vespara yelled. Two ropes dropped out of the Skyranger’s passenger bay.

The Cat Faunus fumbled with the clip on her armor. She attached it to the rope, and tugged up. Fleury did the same. The two flew up towards their comrades.

“Thirty seconds!” Firebrand warned, “or no one’s going home!”

The golden brawler appeared in the mouth of the Skyranger’s passenger bay. She caught hold of Blake’s arms.

“Not slipping away this time, partner,” Yang said.

More hands reached for the duo – Teuku grabbed Yang’s waist, holding the brawler steady; Braun locked his hand around Fleury’s arm; Ohuruogu braced them all against the Skyranger’s mouth; and Vespara helped haul the Specialist into the ship. WALL-E flew out and escorted JNX-R back aboard.

“1-1 and Shrike secured!” Devgan said, then coughed as the smoke overwhelmed the passenger bay. “Gun it!”

“All surviving XCOM operatives are secure,” Firebrand reported, “Firebrand returning to base.”

What the explosives didn’t destroy, the fire consumed. The Skyranger took off into lightning-torn skies to a symphony of dying ADVENT below.

 

* * *

“Mission accomplished, Commander.” The Central Officer gripped the Hologlobe railing and leaned towards his superior. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins. Sooner or later, the grief would overwhelm him, but for now, he was just relieved that everyone had survived. “We just hit ADVENT where it hurts. That was a place no living human being was ever intended to see.” Bradford tensed and locked his arms behind his back. “Happy as I am to see it gone, something tells me the aliens won’t take it lying down.”

“Of course they won’t,” the Commander said softly. Her gaze was unfocused, caught on the revolving Hologlobe that took its rightful place on the bridge again. Once an angry red facility on the Kazakhstan steppes, there was a golden expanse of land once more. “I’ll start arming the Resistance immediately. It seems it’s time to start investing in turrets. Shen,” she said, addressing the chief Engineer, “please start the Turret Breakdown.”

“We just cost ADVENT twenty years of progress,” Bradford said. Left unsaid in the air was, _why aren’t you happy?_

After a long silence, the Commander looked at him.

“I’m aware. If you need me, I’ll be in the Coms Relay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sent out:  
> Lights Out (Cpt. Braun), Sharpshooter, leader = INJURED, 2 days  
> Shrike (Sgt. Fleury), Specialist, accompanied by JNX-R = INJURED, 4 days, SHAKEN  
> Zero (Sgt. Devgan), Specialist, accompanied by WALL-E = INJURED, 3 days  
> Whistle (Sgt. Vespara), Sharpshooter  
> Pandora (Lt. Ohuruogu), Ranger = INJURED, 9 days  
> Cpl. Belladonna, Ranger = INJURED, 3 days  
> Lyra (Cpl. Xiao Long), Grenadier = INJURED, 3 days  
> Dynamite (Lt. Teuku), Grenadier = INJURED, 3 days
> 
> ADVENT is surprisingly cavalier about their Sectopod and Andromedon use, considering the two could be unofficially called "the wrecking crew." Next up: Tygan takes an ethics exam and XCOM goes into morally grey territory.


	24. Operation: Banished Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which XCOM collectively sleeps as much as a college student before their midterms, a lot of blah blah is done, and understandings are made.

“Knee. Outta my ribs, please,” Xiao Long grumbled.

Bradford nudged the nebulizer tank away, giving Ohuruogu enough room to stretch out on her cot.

After being treated for smoke inhalation and carbon monoxide poisoning, Menace team was in isolation. Who knew what sort of nasty bugs ADVENT had cooked up in that Blacksite? Firebrand’s flight suit had protected the pilot, so she was napping off the adrenaline in the Skyranger. Bradford doubted he would ever convince the pilot to leave her beloved craft.

For the first time in a while, no one was gravely wounded. Few bullet wounds to tape up, but nothing that wouldn’t clear up. Despite taking a direct hit from a Sectopod, Vespara would waltz out of Isolation without a scratch. The mental trauma… well, Bradford was going to keep a close eye on his men. He didn’t know if he could handle finding another officer sprawled out in the Armory, brains splattered across the wall.

“Sorry.” The Ranger thumbed her newly bandaged wounds. “Wish I was a sardine. I'd fit right in this stupid chamber.”

“Hush up!” Devgan hissed. “Braun, you were saying about the Sectopods?”

“Whatever Chief Shen cooked up worked.” Braun tapped the screen, freezing Xiao Long in her weightless scramble for purchase on the Sectopods. “They could use the main guns, but no death from above missiles. It saved our bacon. Thanks, Chief.”

“And thanks for saving me,” Xiao Long said as she felt her forearms. “They could’ve blasted my hands off.”

“It should have prevented the Sectopods from activating.” Shen kept elbowing the Commander as she scrolled through lines of code on her tablet. “I bet ADVENT’s got AI to fight our hacks. ROV-R,” she told the GREMLIN hovering above her shoulder, “let’s test out the Javelin program.”

“They’re evolving?” Belladonna asked. “How likely is that?”

“I’m with Belladonna. Seems too smart for just AI.” Teuku’s forehead scrunched up. “Sir, you think we’ll find a Sectoid in one of those walking tanks?”

“We would have to recover a Sectopod first,” Tygan said with an aggravated sigh. “So far, there have not been any missions where that was possible.”

“The Skyranger isn’t rated to carry such loads in its bay,” Shen said tersely.

“We got the weird egg thing back no problem,” Xiao Long piped in from her cot on the floor, “and the turrets, and my uncle in the tank…”

The Commander’s face softened as she looked at the Grenadier. “I think the Sectopod won’t fit in the passenger bay unless we cut off its legs.”

“And its sides. And take out the decon chamber, the cockpit and the passenger seats – hell, just stick the engines on the Sectopod. Far easier that way.” Shen grumbled. “I’ve jury-rigged a harness if we ever get our hands on one, but the Skyranger won’t be happy about the weight. I’ll need some alloys to strengthen the harness, at least five kilos to be sure.”

“We’re running low on alien alloys,” Bradford reminded his superior. “We’ve got 10 kilos, max.”

“Tygan, is the Plated Armor ready to deploy?” the Commander asked.

“The research is done,” the doctor stated. “To construct enough suits for a team of eight will require ten more kilos of alloys than available.”

“Then why don’t we fly back to the Blacksite, sir?” Vespara asked. “The electronics and intel’s probably fried, but the alloys might be good.”

“Count me out.” Teuku wrapped his blanket around his shoulders, huddled into a tight ball. “It’s a fucking mass grave now!”

A heavy silence fell over the AWC.

 

The Central Officer couldn't stay still. He couldn't dwell on the thought of his family, sitting like specimens in vials for some crazy ADVENT scientists. Bradford wrote down some recommendations for the Commander’s eyes later: only fresh soldiers for any recovery op, and they should be some of the mentally tougher ones. Definitely no one with known missing family… that narrowed it down to three personnel, and two were non-combatants. He’d send out a call for new recruits at the next Haven.

He briefly wondered if Emily’s dust had been scattered to the winds, or if her corpse was no more than twisted charcoal. The room pressed in on him like the walls of a coffin, too crowded for comfort.

Bradford took a deep breath. The Commander called the shots. All he had to do was carry out her orders, and they would punish ADVENT for its crimes.

“After prolonged heat exposure, the alien alloys become brittle,” Tygan cut in. “To be expected of any material. With the rain, you would have corrosion. I doubt much would be salvageable.”

“Does it affect the new armor?” Bradford asked.

“Within reason. If you man a mission inside a volcano, the armor will not last.”

“And now we’ll have to scuba dive in a volcano,” Belladonna murmured.

Tygan flicked the screen of his tablet. “I believe they will last approximately thirty minutes in direct flame. You would run out of oxygen long before the armor expires. I’ll have Dr. Schnee confirm with the Remnant sets.”

“Sounds like there’s little we can scavenge,” Bradford said to his Commander. “Still, if only to make sure ADVENT’s down… and Xiao Long did find that Dust.” He raised his voice slightly. “Which _should_ have been decontaminated before entering the AWC.”

“If Ian’s any indication,” Devgan reached across his cot and shoved the Sharpshooter, “Dust-infused stuff is OP. I wouldn’t mind having a suit.”

“Why did the Sharpshooter end up getting the fancy suit anyways?” Fleury asked, speaking up after a long time.

“Smaller chance of engaging flesh enemies,” the Commander said. “Rose and Schnee mentioned the armor combusts if hit with a Dust attack. Robots, according to them, lack the souls to use it. Vespara was in the best place to test the armor.”

Bradford noticed Xiao Long frowning, but he didn’t press the issue. The girl seemed to have the most memory problems out of the Remnant operatives. He’d ask her later.

Braun nudged his fellow Sharpshooter. “Sectopod bait, oo ha ha!”

Vespara eyed the other man. “Is it because you’re 18 and dumb, or did the smoke scramble your brains?”

“Not now, please. We’ll fly out to the Blacksite in a day’s time,” the Commander decided. “The fires should be out by then. Anything else?”

Fleury shook. Her chest quivered with shallow, uneven breaths. Bradford’s attention locked onto her; he had seen that same panic seconds before his men put a gun to their heads and pulled the trigger.

“I’ve got a problem, _Tangent._ ” Fleury stood and leveled a hand at her superior. _“_ You forgot about me in that Blacksite. I was off mining ADVENT’s computers. My teammates were running for their lives. I went in there alone. They had someone watching their backs. I would’ve burned alive.”

“Fleury, you were well suited for the task. With the Sword Team setting up the distraction, you should have met minimal resistance,” the Commander said. “I thought you had enough time to evacuate. I’m sorry.”

“I wanted to help the trapped civilians.” Fleury’s voice rose in pitch. “You were ready to leave them to die. You didn’t even want to give that man a mercy kill. You tried to kill me, didn’t you?”

“The Commander would never kill off any of our men,” Bradford snapped, though the question still lurked in his head. There had been a few attempts on the Commander’s life… and how better to get rid of dissent than during a mission?

Silence fell over the medbay.

“Give me some credit,” the Commander said flatly. “As morally questionable as my actions may be, I do not kill off my subordinates.”

“Would you ever kill one of us off?” Belladonna asked, staring the Commander down.

“Doubtful.” There was another harsh silence. “If you start rampaging about the Avenger like a Velociraptor, I’ll do my best for a non-lethal solution.”

Teuku shuddered and withdrew into his burrito of blankets.

“A simple _no_ is okay, Commander,” Bradford prodded.

She dipped her head. “Fleury, I serve XCOM and its men,” his superior said, leveling a look at the officer. “And that includes you.”

Fleury stared back at her commanding officer. “You let those innocent people die!”

“I’m aware.” The Commander stood and looked at each soldier in turn. “ADVENT knows we’re after them. They know they can no longer hide their atrocities, because you brought them to light. There will be justice. Dismissed. You may choose a Chamber to sleep in. Green will bring you dinner.”

“This is what Anwen's dying for,” Bradford heard Fleury mutter as he left the isolation chamber. “Empty promises.”

 

* * *

 

“Tygan’s set to autopsy Rose and Xiao Long’s uncle once he wakes up. Shen’s gonna build the 6 sets of plated armor,” Bradford reeled off as he paced the meeting room. A list of the Avenger’s current resources scrolled down the Commander’s terminal. “We currently have sixteen kilos of supplies, ten alien alloys, one Elerium core, no extra power, and an empty Coms relay slot. To analyze the Blacksite vial, Tygan’ll need at least 200 supplies and 5 power. We’ll have to clear out a room, and devote someone to securing the Avenger’s networks from alien attention. Or you could set an engineer to develop software to fight ADVENT’s mechanical goons.”

“When’s the next supply drop?” The Commander massaged her forehead as she looked over their plan of attack for the next month. “I thought we had more supplies than this.”

“Not after repairing the armor and maintaining the weapons,” Bradford said. “The drop is delayed by two weeks. Increased ADVENT patrols. If we attacked the outpost in west Germany, we could speed it up by a week.”

“Why can’t we just fly to the Resistance Havens to collect supplies?”

“We’re the only non-alien ship in the skies, Commander. Can’t draw too much attention, particularly when _someone_ has decided not to weaponize the Havens.”

“I can take a hint, Central.” The Commander blew out a breath and settled against her chair. “Have Shen start the Turret breakdowns. ETA on the armor?”

“4 days for four sets, two if you devote all four engineers.”

“Set Provenza on clearing room 2-3. No, have him work with Shen on the Turrets. He helped design the damned things. Hamidou clears room 2-3. Rose and Chastain can build the armor. Fleury can work on anti-Sectopod software. Commandeer Urist – damn it, she’s vegetative…” The Commander blew out a breath. “Novik, then, on building armor. She’s good with her hands.”

“He,” Bradford reminded his superior. “Speaking of Novik, we have sufficient medication and bandages to treat all wounded aboard. Odinson, Yoshida and Kelly will return to active duty soon. Adler still needs a replacement arm.”

The Commander bit her lip. “I forgot each engineer's specialization,” she said, exhaustion welling up in her voice. “Who do you recommend?”

Bradford reviewed his personal files on the men. “Chastain has the most experience with cybernetics. I’d also put Appelo and Langlade on clearing duty. They haven’t gone on any missions recently. Let them work off some energy.”

“I trust you on this.” The Commander rubbed her eyes as she scrolled through videofeeds of the Avenger. All available soldiers had gathered around the sofas in the Living Quarters. The TV was off. Some were polishing their knives. It looked like the beginnings of a rebellion.

Bradford walked over to look at her terminal. No angry faces yet, but definitely a lot of worry and unease.

“We should tell the men the truth about the Blacksite,” Bradford said.

“Seems like a security risk.” The Commander switched to a map of known Resistance settlements. “We already have a mole. What if it’s one of them?”

“It’s a possibility,” Bradford admitted, “but I’ve already vetted the men and the coms relays. There have been no out-bound transmissions beyond what we have ordered. You can find the recordings in the folder over there, Commander.” He tapped the screen. “Everyone on board is innocent.”

“Someone is lying to us,” the Commander snapped, “and innocent people have died. If the news gets out that so many have died under my watch? We’ll have a full blown rebellion on our hands!”

“Honesty is the best policy, sir,” Bradford said. “If you wanna nip rumors in the bud, then step up to the plate. The men are worried. They want to know that their families and the lives of the Resistance are your top priority.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Wouldn’t hurt to show some faith in them,” Bradford said. “Back then, I told them you were humanity’s best.” Her jaw dropped, and she made to speak, but Bradford motioned for her to wait. “You’ve struck back at ADVENT, but you’re looking at the bigger picture. Every one of our soldiers is used to being lied to. Even out here, we hear ADVENT spewing propaganda. It’s time for something different.”

The Commander kept her gaze down as she stood. “I’ll take your advice. Central, please fly us to Resistance HQ. We could use some intel.”

 

* * *

 

The Avenger’s engines hummed away, the rumble reverberating through the walls of Isolation Chamber C. Blake cracked an eye open. The clock read 11:30 PM. Isolation C was the smallest of the chambers; two people already made the room quite crowded. Or maybe it was the weight of her thoughts and the whisper of dead in her ears that made it so.

Blake lay on her cot. Her breath fogged her oxygen mask. Visions of human and Faunus bodies suspended in green light floated before her eyes. She brought the covers over her head, as if that could banish the ghosts. But the memories came on, and on. She remembered Sun whimpering as he tried to staunch the bleeding from his torso and the footsteps of the White Fang member fleeing the scene. She saw thousands of Grimm storming Vale, killing civilians left and right. She remembered Yang, laying wan and pale on a hospital cot, right arm missing below the bicep.

The Cat Faunus breathed in, and out. The mask fogged, then cleared. She counted the seconds between each breath. It had helped her, back when she conducted raids on SDC Dust trains. Each breath had steadied Gambol Shroud in her arms. Her parents and classmates and teachers were dead. But Blake Belladonna was alive. Despite it all, she had survived, and RWBY had survived.

Guilt welled in her chest. How could she survive, when so many others died? The Cat Faunus had watched the mission through the eyes of the body-cams. Yang had constantly thrown herself into the path of giant metallic monsters. It was the same strength and candor that caught Blake’s eye in the first place. The golden brawler had done the same risky moves on Remnant, to be sure, but if Blake lost her partner now…

What had they been, before the plasma rained and Salem – yes, that was her name, she was the font of all their misery – what did Yang mean to her back then? She was a trustworthy partner. Blake loved to make her breakfast over the campfire. She made Blake laugh. Blake would give her life for that phoenix. They had loved, and laughed for a time. But that time had run out. And now, in the darkness of the AWC, Blake acutely felt how little time she could have running through her fingers.

 _I want more time_ , she thought, turning her head into the pillow. _I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting. I want justice, and I want revenge for everyone ADVENT took away. But I don’t think I can hack and slash forever. I want to build something._

 

“You awake?” Yang asked.

“At least it’s easier to sleep here than on a Bulkhead,” Blake said. Her words thudded to the ground. “It was nice of the team to give us a private room.”

Yang blew out a breath. “You think ADVENT did that to everyone from Beacon?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Blake said. She shook her head. “I didn’t see Mom or Dad in there. I… I think they’re gone.”

“No dad or Raven there, either,” Yang said. “I can’t believe we’re… Dust, Blakey. I think we’re the last Remnant people alive.”

Blake offered her hand to Yang. Her partner immediately covered it with two palms that radiated warmth like a hearthfire.

Blake’s heart sped up as Yang traced the whorls of her thumb. They stayed in a pregnant pause, Yang still stroking her partner’s hand.

“I… I’m not good with talking about this. I’m so used to running away.”

“On me to be blunt, huh?” Yang asked with a grin.

“It certainly helps,” Blake said. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Me too.” Yang squeezed Blake’s hand. “I like you. And I think, before everything went to hell, I loved you too. But I’m not quite the same old Yang–“ Yang waved her right arm. Blake faintly remembered a horrible scream and the flash of Adam’s sword carving through the air. “And I don’t know if you’re the same Blake. So… I don’t want to make you feel obliged to me. Say the word, Blakey, and we’ll pretend nothing happens. I’ll live, and I’ll be your friend, and I’ll be happy just being your partner.”

The golden brawler looked down, her fire dimmed, as if she had spent most of her energy in the single confession.

Blake set a hand on her partner’s shoulder. She squeezed gently. “Sometimes I think I remember being much closer than this,” the shadow-footed warrior said quietly. “Other times, I wonder if it was all a dream.”

Her golden brawler let out a choked laugh. Yang’s oxygen mask fogged from the heat of her Aura. “Yeah… Ruby remembers things a lot better than me, but I… I don’t think she would remember this. I hope she doesn’t, if–“ Yang’s face turned flaming red. “Uh, never mind, stupid thought.”

The Cat Faunus blew out a breath. “I’m confused,” she admitted. “I was one person before losing my memories, and now… now I’m not quite sure who I am. I have a feeling the old me was a lot more paranoid of the White Fang. But there’s no White Fang here. I guess… it really is a new start. I want it to be with you.”

A soft smile spread across Yang’s lips. “I could understand that. But I do know that you’re one cool cat.”

“We’re breaking up,” Blake said, deadpan.

“W-wait.” Blake’s golden brawler was adorably flustered. “So we were together? Together together?”

“I think we used to be.” Blake smiled at her partner. “And I’m not too sure how to go forwards, but I’d like to be your girlfriend again some day.”

A slow smile spread over Yang’s face. “Do you want to do a test run?” she asked. “Make sure we’re not rushing into this?”

“We’re at the end of yet another world,” Blake said. “I don’t know if we’ll have enough time.”

“You’re probably right. But I want this to be special for you.” Yang blushed. “I mean… that’s what people do for their girlfriends, right?”

Blake rolled the word around in her head. It seemed about right.

Without a second thought, Blake left her bed and curled up beside her partner. Yang carefully untangled their oxygen lines. The Cat Faunus wound an arm around the golden brawler.

 

* * *

 

“It’ll help mainly if you’re pinned down,” Ruby said, sliding her hand down the blade. It hurt to see the last of Remnant’s weapons melted down and reforged into bland machetes with pistols in the hilts, but she knew that this new world lacked the Aura to use the weapons at their full potential. “I wouldn’t mess around with the trigger down here while you’re swinging it around.”

“Fingers off the booger hook, got it.” Levin replaced the machete in its sheathe. “You can be sure, we’re gonna kill every damn ayy in the way.” He shook his head, the mop of ruddy-black hair dancing above his brow. “I can’t believe it. I heard Kol talking with his wife. They were abducting us all this time. The stories were true.”

“I guess that’s why Mu Lan wants to arm you guys. She asked me to work on these.” Ruby patted the 8 weapons proudly. “Not as pretty as Crescent Rose, but they’ll do the job.” Her tablet beeped. “I should get back to the ship now. Have fun!”

“See you around.” Levin yawned. “God, I hate the night shift. It’s 5. Nobody sane’s up at 5.”

Ruby laughed. “You should tell Central that. Night!”

Ruby wandered through the Resistance HQ’s darkened tunnels, her mood slowly dropping away. She had come to deliver a set of weapons designed for the HQ’s guards. Mu Lan had said it would take her mind off her uncle’s impending autopsy. But the memory of Uncle Qrow, a reanimated monster with Grimm’s eyes charging towards her, still lingered in her thoughts.

She turned the corner. Mu Lan and one of the HQ’s staffers were tucked in a doorway, jammed between two rusted-out tanks. Ruby really should be returning to the ship. But her Huntress instinct kicked in, and she stayed to listen.

Mu Lan kept her voice low. “You need to keep them safe. I know you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Vincent won’t be happy,” Padma responded.

“He’ll be alive. That’s more than most can say.”

Gemma ran up from between the tanks, disrupting any further conversation. “Ms. Mu Lan! Hi! Are you here for dancing lessons again?”

Mu Lan knelt so she could see eye to eye with the smaller girl. “Morning, Gemma. You’re up early!”

“Daddy’s pretty grumpy. He wonders why I can’t get up at normal times." The little girl shook her head, wild locks flying everywhere. "But it's so nice and quiet now! Would you like to have some tea? I can hold a party!"

“Sorry, Gemma. Adult stuff.” Mu Lan pouted exaggeratedly, drawing a giggle out of Gemma. “Now that you’re here, can you promise me something?”

“Is it something I can’t tell daddy?”

“No, you can tell him if you want." Mu Lan looked at Padma, who withdrew three or four steps. "Please don’t dance for now,” she told the smaller girl.

“No dancing? But you told me to practice so I won’t be found.”

“We can dance later,” Mu Lan said. “For now… just try to stay small. Like a ladybug, okay? Can you do this for me?”

“Got it,” Gemma said, though it was very subdued.

Mu Lan reached into her pants pocket, and withdrew a fist-sized package wrapped in yellowing paper. “In case I’m not here for your birthday party, princess.”

“A surprise? Is it going to be a good one?” Gemma asked, “or is it going to be the adult, nothing good happens kind?”

“Who knows?” Padma said, ruffling Gemma’s hair. “We can always hope for the best. Maybe ADVENT will just ignore us.”

 The Commander shoot Padma a sharp look. Ruby had the impression the camel-skin toned woman had said far too much.

 

* * *

 

It was 7 AM, an ungodly hour that made Bradford pray for gallons of hot coffee. He stretched, sending the sheets slithering off his cot. Something cricked in his back. A jolt of pain shot up his spine. He was getting too old for this shit.

He pulled on his uniform as he exited his room. Snuffling breaths filled the Commander’s Quarters. The culprit was sprawled over one of the sofas, an arm thrown over her eyes, shirt rumpled and boots still stuck on her feet. She looked like a drunk sorority girl. Bradford checked his tablet. The Commander had just gotten off her shift. Odd. She was usually awake to greet him with the night shift's news.

As if on cue, the terminal rang.

Bradford scanned the verification codes. “Priority message from the Council, sir.” He shook the Commander’s shoulder. “Up and at’em, Commander. The Informant’s calling.”

She slowly sat up. For a minute, Bradford thought her eyes were red and puffy. He blinked. The Commander looked the same as ever: unchanging, unyielding and unforgivable.

 _Good soldiers follow orders,_ he chided himself, _when they can’t offer better solutions._

“’M wake,” she murmured, heading towards the terminal. “Please stay, Central. I’d like a second opinion.”

Bradford hid a yawn in his sleeve as the Avenger let the call through.

“Having now seen the inner workings of the Blacksite Facility, the outcome is perhaps even more troubling than I had expected. It is clear the aliens have undertaken a gruesome task. I will leave this matter for you to investigate, Commander,” the Informant said. The former councilman did not even bother with the niceties. “Your work in infiltrating the alien Blacksite in West Asia has brought us even closer to understanding the aliens’ true motivations.”

Not even a ‘ _hello, good work, we’re all terrified. By the way, have you heard? There's a liar in the Resistance, and for once it ain't Bradford._ ’

The Commander brought up a separate menu on the terminal. “We were told that nobody had managed to access the Blacksite. However, we were sent files on separate facilities, and found a human corpse on the site’s outskirts,” she said, scrolling past page upon page of diagrams. “The files did not match the Blacksite’s layout exactly, but they were close. Does this seems suspicious to you?”

“Perhaps. The Resistance does not always communicate well. It will be up to you to verify these reports.” The Informant dipped his head. “Your effort in destroying the alien Blacksite was commendable, but I fear the worst is yet to come, Commander. We must remain vigilant,” he reported. “Recent reports suggest ADVENT has lost significant progress on this Avatar project.”

Bradford’s eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. As tired as he was, something didn’t seem right.

“Significant. Sir, you said they’d lose _all_ their progress,” he said to the Commander.

“Papillon told us the aliens had almost finished the Avatar project,” the Commander told the Informant. “I waited until the last minute to destroy as much of their work as possible.”

“It seems there _is_ misinformation in your ranks,” the Informant said. “I recently became aware the aliens had completed at least five months worth of research on this particular project. Your actions at the Blacksite have cost them all five.”

“How long would it take for them to fully complete it?” Bradford asked.

“I do not know. I would wager twelve months, judging by their other projects,” the Informant said. “They juggle the Theoi project as well. It slows their progress considerably. We could have had over a year to prepare.”

“They might have been halfway done,” the Commander said, “and we just kicked the hornets’ nest.”

The Informant dipped his head. Orange and blue spotlights danced off the bald patch. “We expect you to do better in the coming month, Commander.”

 

* * *

 

“-let those poor people burn alive,” Green mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on his screen. From his position at the Hologlobe, Bradford kept an ear on the technician gossiping away with Appelo. “Something’s rotten. And we’re just chugging away?”

“What a monster…” Appelo muttered. “I don’t think I can–“

“Don’t think you can what, soldier?” Bradford asked sharply. He was starting to regret his policy on honesty, but the soldier in him stuck to his guns. It was for the best if everyone was on the same page.

“Nothing important, sir. Just thinking about that Blacksite,” the chastened soldier replied.

“We’re working on it,” an exhausted Agreste snapped. “I’ve sent messages all over the globe, Central. Nobody’s got a bead on a possible traitor.”

As soon as he said that, the technician’s terminal chimed with an urgent message. Bradford restrained a groan.

“Commander, picking up something from the local resistance council,” he said into his mic. “The Swedish one.”

“You have a strange definition of local,” a groggy voice replied. “Onscreen.”

Bradford blinked at the mission debrief that appeared on his tablet.

 

ADVENT VIP Tour: kill Jerardo Galarza

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine the Skyranger carrying a Sectopod greatly resembles a piñata. But when you hit it, a bunch of rockets fall out. It's like candy for grenadiers! Bradford should probably be glad that all fireworks have since expired. The Avenger has enough holes already without Yang and crew adding more.
> 
> It turns out, working 3 jobs and 5 classes really puts a damper on your schedule. Updates are going to be spotty, but I'll do my best!
> 
> Next chapter: "Are we the baddies? We've got skull bandanas, I've got a dead guy at my feet, and people are starting to scream."


	25. Operation: Righteous Pyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is little joy in fighting those you thought friends.

Bradford evaluated the packet. This was the first assassination mission since the Commander returned. Galarza had pissed someone off hard.

He stared. Jerardo Galarza? The name faintly rang a bell: if it was the same man, he had been presumed dead 15 years ago.

“Sir, they’re throwing even the kitchen sink at us on a weakly secured channel,” Green said. Lines and lines of data appeared on the technician’s screen; dates, locations, names of ADVENT politicians, records of what was done down to who had ordered what meal… “Are these _meetings_?”

“Someone’s buddy-buddy with ADVENT,” Agreste said, the lines of his mouth thinning as he leaned over to look. “These go back to 2025.”

“He’s done a lot of work in politics, refugees mainly,” Green continued as he parsed through the information. “Data transfer complete, sir. Worked in a Brazilian city center, moved over to East India on the borders of the irradiated zone, then to Mumbai. Helped defuse tensions there. Now they’re touring him in the Warsaw Priority Block. There’s been a bit of unrest there.”

Bradford nodded his assent. Galarza had been his personnel coordinator back in XCOM’s 2nd iteration without the Commander. Then ADVENT had invaded the Argentinian air force base, and Bradford had been forced to flee to Africa. He had evacuated with Vahlen and sixteen men and women, a far cry from the force of three hundred Galarza had assembled. Galarza was presumed lost in the flames. Bradford wouldn’t put it past ADVENT to look for survivors in the ruins. Heal Galarza, gain his trust, and ADVENT would have a goldmine of info.

Still, the betrayal ran deep. Dead men walked the Earth, and they didn't seem to be on XCOM’s side.

“Keep it on the down low, men,” Bradford said. “We’ll have a decision in fifteen.”

Bradford left for the Commander’s Quarters. Agreste, Appelo and Green had seen the data and if not managed properly, would spread rumors around the Avenger like a STD. The last thing XCOM needed was a soldier going AWOL on their private crusade.

 

“Commander, he could be our traitor,” Bradford said once the doors had shut behind him, “or he could be our man on the inside. He’s in a good place to relay us information about ADVENT’s inner circle.”

“Could he be the Spokesman?” the Commander wondered as she straightened her bun. “Or Papillon?”

“No. Galarza’s got a heavy Spanish accent.” Bradford laughed bitterly. “Even if the Spokesman’s been using a voice changer, it’s not him.”

“Or he could be one of our spies.” The Commander sighed. “It won’t look good if we murder the wrong person. Are VIP tours common?”

“Heard’ve them, never stayed around to see one.” Bradford pulled up the personnel’s reports of their time in the cities. “Tours go out when people get uppity. ADVENT doesn’t parade prisoners around. Prisoners disappear. We’ll bring fliers with us, try to snag some sympathy in the slums. Belladonna’s put out some nice work we can use.”

“No fliers if we’re there to kill. And make sure they cover their faces.” The Commander flicked through her tablet. “Codenames are kept in the mother tongue, but he sounds Hispanic…”

“That important, Commander?” Bradford reviewed the information the Resistance had sent out: Galarza was known to be a high-ranking administrator. His parade route would take him through the Warsaw ghettos – Bradford couldn’t believe there was _no one_ in Warsaw who remembered what the Nazis did to the city – and then to city center. XCOM would be best off attacking near the slums. “I’ll have Agreste do a more in-depth examination of the info during the mission.”

“His choice of codename resembles my network’s,” she said. “If we’re wrong, an innocent man dies. That’ll tank our reputation in any ADVENT-held slums.”

“Then capture him,” he suggested, “and if he’s a traitor, we shoot him.”

“We’re deploying in a parade zone. If Operation Gatecrasher was any indicator, the area will be swarming with patrols.” The Commander drummed her fingers against her hip. “If necessary, would you recommend terminating?”

“Yes. Our men’s lives come first,” Bradford said. “They need to fight another day.”

“Any objections, things I should know?” she asked.

His voice grew hard. “If he’s a traitor, then he’s got what’s coming to him.” Bradford gripped the nearest table for support. “But I don’t want him dead, Commander. Death is too good for him. I want to bring him back, wring all the answers out of him, and make him pay.”

“We’ll do our best.” The Commander rose. “Call Jung, Langlade, Grímsson, Yoshida and Novik to the Hangar.”

 

* * *

 

“So, Central, I notice I’m on baby-sitting duty today,” Yoshida said as she polished her gun. The passenger bay’s cameras bobbed; the winds had picked up while the Skyranger was en route to ADVENT Priority Block Warsaw. “No backup?”

“What, I don’t count?” Teuku asked. He patted the forty-six notches on the stock of his grenade launcher. “I’m in therapy and all, but gimme a break!”

“The rookies can hear you,” Langlade said, fidgeting in her seat. “I’ve never been to a city before. Are there more people than in the Havens?”

“Called a city for a reason, 1-1,” Bradford said. “No tears shed if there’s non-ADVENT casualties, but try to limit them.”

“…Thanks, Central,” Teuku said glumly.

“We don’t give grenade launchers to the careless, Dynamite,” the Commander said. “One last time. Akira, you’re responsible for locking down ADVENT turrets and MECs. Dynamite, 1-4 and 1-2, you’re setting up the ambush at the indicated location. EMP mines at Point Echo, and HE at Point Alpha. 1-1 and 1-3, you’re securing the hostage. Any questions?”

“Advice?” Langlade offered. As the only operative who had never gone on a city mission before, she had been designated 1-1. Grímsson had one mission under his belt, and so was 1-2 on the pecking order.

“Don’t shoot civvies, 1-1,” Teuku said, “or you’ll get the worst nickname ever.”

“Viper hugs are not that fun,” said Novik, designated 1-4. “Boobs to the face are great. Cracked ribs aren’t.”

“Don’t stand in front of my pistol,” Jung grumbled. “Can’t believe I hafta say this.”

Grímsson remained silent as he polished his machete.

“Going silent,” Firebrand reported, “we’re approaching ADVENT airspace.”

 

It was either a testament to Bradford’s teaching abilities or the rookies’ desire to not fuck things up and get captured, but once the Menace team hit the rain-slicked ground, they were off to the races. Langlade and Jung had disappeared into the shadowed alleyways to shoo any civilians away, not that there were any this deep in the slums. Grímsson was helping Teuku slot explosives into the gutters. Novik was overwatching for the pair. Yoshida’s GREMLIN kept an eye out for the parade, while its operator hacked the security cams overlooking the street to show endless loops.

“For a parade, you’d think there’d be more people,” Novik said as he shimmied up a pipe to get to an apartment block’s second floor. “Guess they aren’t too interested.”

Grímsson hissed. Aboard the Avenger, Bradford watched the Ranger ready his shotgun. “Maybe if ADVENT didn’t turn them all into–“

“Zip it. ADVENT’s listening,” Bradford ordered. New readings from Yoshida’s GREMLIN popped up on the Hologlobe table, indicating a pack of heat signatures heading through the city block. “Five minutes, people, then the party’s headed your way.”

“Menace 1-5, get clear of the blast range and rendez-vous at point Quebec,” the Commander ordered. “Wait for my signal to engage.” She turned off her mike, then turned to Bradford. “Novik’s right, though.”

“Little too late for regrets,” Bradford said as the procession crept into view.

 

Black suited ADVENT Troopers marched forward, in lines of ten. Bradford heard the dull, synchronized thump of their boots, even through the shoddy filters of Yoshida’s GREMLIN. It faintly reminded him of the parade drills back in the Marines. Bradford shook his head. ADVENT was nothing like the USMC: where the Marines had a certain elegance to their uniforms, ADVENT had black armor with hard, blocky lines and even uglier guns. He wondered why nobody questioned the blatantly evil-themed armor. All ADVENT needed to ratchet up the Evil Empire™ theme were little skull badges on their uniforms. Maybe people these days were just more likely to be happy, unquestioning sheep.

“Just troopers then?” he inquired. “Doesn’t look like they have a platoon leader.”

“Should see a unit of MECs, a Captain or two,” the Commander said, studying the videofeed intently. She rubbed her eyes. “I’d put them near the back, with the hostage. The Troopers are far more expendable.”

“Damn, that’s a lotta soldiers,” Langlade muttered.

Bradford didn’t bother scolding her, as Yoshida was perfectly happy to do so on her local com. Besides, a second transmission through the psionic network could alert the ADVENT soldiers.

There was a slight lull, a gap of fifty or so meters before a car rolled into view. A tanned woman in a sleek black dress drove, while Jerardo Galarza sat in passenger seat. He stared out at the road before him, barely moving otherwise.

“That’s definitely him. Very motivating, that zombie face,” Bradford remarked. “Used to talk my ear off. Think it’s an act he puts up for the crowds?”

The Commander stared at the man intently, then shook her head. “He’s not one of mine. Agreste, how’s the data mining?”

“It would be faster if I could log into the ship’s main computer,” Agreste said dryly, “but you’re holding a mission, sir.”

“Acknowledged. Let us know if you find anything,” Bradford said.

A pod of eight or nine MECS marched behind the car, accompanied by six ADVENT Captains.

The 7th ADVENT Captain didn’t look like one at all. Its scarlet armor had gilt inlays scrolling down the shoulders, forming the complex spiderwebbed patterns found on the abductees’ sarcophagi. Its cape was far more ornate than the Captains’ surrounding it. A rich, deep purple fabric that trailed along the ground, the cape would be better suited for a ball than a battle.

And then there was its weapon.

“Be advised, there’s a Captain with a sniper rifle,” Bradford said. “Not sure what the cape can do. Camouflage, maybe. Could signal rank.”

“The apartment blocks are good ground.” The Commander sighed. “It’s a shame all our rifle specialist snipers are recovering. If that Captain starts moving, get Dynamite on a roof.”

Agreste coughed at his terminal. The Technician was still parsing through the Resistance data packet for connections. “Uh, sir, none of these apartment blocks have heat signatures. Shouldn’t there be crowds?”

“Might be mandatory to attend parades,” Bradford said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t put crowds near alleyways. Good place to hide ambushes.”

Six Vipers formed the tail of the parade. They didn’t wear the black chest plate, back plates and pauldrons like the corpses in the Science Lab. ADVENT had chosen bright white breastplates flanged with red and black that highlighted the Vipers’… physique. A thin silky sash sashayed with the Viper as it slithered after the car. Bradford had seen more modest clothing in that shady strip club near Fort Leavenworth.

“Why is it always Vipers?” Bradford checked the squad’s load out. “Dynamite’s still got some HE, Commander. Should shred right through those Vipers.”

“Get 1-4 and 1-2 to lock them down after the EMPs detonate. How close are the Troopers to point Alpha?”

Bradford pulled up a heat map of the area. “Fifty meters and closing in. If the shrapnel doesn’t get them, the shockwave will.”

The Commander nodded and switched on her mike. “Menace 1-5, detonate Alpha in five.”

“Going loud!” Langlade cried.

On the Hologlobe deck, the vid feeds from the Menace team blanked out.

 

Novik’s camera was the first to start transmitting again. It showed the Specialist hunkering beside a ventilation duct. His GREMLIN hovered above the ADVENT Captains, which were preoccupied with trying to gun it down.

“Menace 1-5, be advised, the flashy Captain’s gone dark,” Bradford said. He scanned the heat maps. “1-4, be on the look-out.”

“No one coughing up blood?” Yoshida asked as she gunned down one of the few remaining ADVENT Troopers. The platoon had been decimated: the few stragglers that remained slipped and slid over the orange-slicked bodies of their comrades. A MEC shot her way, nearly taking off her nose. “Dynamite! Where’s the EMP?”

“Coming your way!” the Grenadier responded. The screens blacked out once more. When they returned, Teuku was preoccupied with unloading his mag cannon’s contents into the advancing Captains.

Galarza’s driver had planted their foot on the accelerator, but that didn’t help when the road ahead was blocked by a multitude of corpses. She screamed all the while, her voice tinny in Grímsson’s vid feed.

“Permission to shoot the car,” Grímsson said.

“Denied,” Bradford said. “It’ll blow up and kill both of them. Focus on the Vipers. 1-4, any sign of the missing Captain?”

“No sir.” Novik reloaded his rifle. “Don’t hear him either.”

The car skidded over an ADVENT trooper’s corpse and careened into an apartment block. The driver was thrown from the car, but Galarza remained seated. The woman didn’t look dead, but she would have one hell of a road rash.

“Akira, get back to locking down the MECs,” the Commander ordered. “1-1 and 1-3, move to secure the hostage. 1-1, grenade the remaining Captains.”

EI-N flew out from Yoshida’s side and began to hack into one of the MECs. The MEC slumped. When it straightened, the cannons on its back glowed ominously before unleashing a torrent of molten metal over the pod of MECs and Vipers. The rest of the MECs staggered away.

The Vipers took cover by the staircases near each apartment building, but Jung kept picking them out with precise shots to the chest. Already severely weakened by the barrage of micro missiles, the Vipers fled into the alleyways, where Grímsson’s machete waited. Scaly corpses slumped into the street; the only sign of the Ranger was the pus-yellow ichor flung off his blade.

“Reloading!” Jung yelled.

“Could’ve warned– urk!” Grímsson gasped for breath as the last Viper coiled around him. Its breastplate had snapped in half. The sensors on his armor warned the jagged edge had jammed against his armor and pierced through Grímsson’s shoulder.

Yoshida stopped trading fire with the ADVENT Captains long enough to loose a few bullets in Grímsson’s direction. The magnetically-flung bullets shot through the Viper’s head, showering Grímsson in grey gore and more of that pus-yellow blood. One bullet went wide and went through the coils of the Viper, ending up in Grímsson’s side.

“You’re… shooting… me…” Grímsson gasped as he curled in on himself. The Viper’s coils loosened in death, but they did cushion the Ranger from the fluid-slicked pavement.

“1-4, medical protocol on 1-2,” the Commander said.

Langlade had finally made it to the crashed car. She pulled Galarza from his seat. Jung joined her and hoisted the hostage over his shoulders.

“Get clear, that car’s gonna blow!” Bradford said. “Menace 1-5, get the VIP to EVAC!”

In the distance, Bradford could faintly hear the drumming of boots against pavement. It sounded like another platoon, and XCOM did not have nearly enough explosives to deal with them.

“Akira, Dynamite, guard their backs,” the Commander ordered. “1-4, 1-2 – clear the way. 1-1 and 1-3, the EVAC point is one block down from your current position.”

“Why can’t it be closer?” Jung griped as he lugged Galarza over the orange-painted corpses of ADVENT Troopers.

“We’ve only got one Skyranger, now move it, kid,” Bradford said. “Langlade, if he stops moving, take the VIP.”

“Wrong… man…” Galarza slurred. “All ADVENT. Must help them.”

“Not helping his case,” Novik commented.

 

The Menace Team fled down the street, in between the shattered rubble of former apartment buildings and black-blasted remains of former Troopers. Their boots broke the soft patter of rain. No civilians lined the roads, but there was evidence of their passing - umbrellas here, an abandoned jacket there, a forlorn teddy bear sitting on top of a trashcan by the convenience store at the end of the road.

Galarza kept mumbling, drifting in and out of incoherency. “Wrong man… warn them… my fault…”

“Lan– 1-1, you gotta take him,” Jung said. Galarza slid off his shoulders. “One of the bastards got me. Shoulders can’t take it.”

“Keep moving. 1-1, pick up the VIP.” The Commander switched off her mike and looked at Bradford. “There’s got to be a trap. The Captain’s hiding _somewhere_.”

A loud report burst through the street.

Blood spurted from a hole in Jung’s gut. The Sharpshooter screamed as his armor caught fire.

“Contact, contact!” Yoshida yelled, taking cover behind a car. “You three, keep moving! Central, do you have a reading?”

“Cloaked – no, he’s on the move!” A glimpse of warm yellow flickered into life amongst the cold blacks and blues of the few apartment buildings which still stood. “He’s on the roof of the building with the convenience store.”

“Can’t see him!” Teuku reported. He loaded a grenade and fired in that general direction anyways. “Did I hit anything?”

“No heat signatures,” the Commander said, “just keep moving!”

“It burns!” Jung whimpered as he collapsed.

“Stop, drop and roll, you moron!” Teuku yelled at him.

“Excuse me! I’m burning and that _kinda hurts!_ ” Jung rolled into a puddle. Steam rose from his blistered skin, though his armor remained intact. “ _Cao_! It hurts! It hurts!”

“Quit your whining and keep rolling!” Yoshida snapped.

It looked like the Commander’s brain was rebooting, but she shook her head. “Keep that armor on, Jung, it’s better than nothing. Just run to EVAC!”

At the far end of the block, another platoon of ADVENT soldiers appeared.

“Everything went straight to hell,” Grímsson muttered as he pulled his fellow soldier up.

 

The Menace team charged ahead, ADVENT’s bullets hot on their backs. Yoshida’s GREMLIN revealed another band of ADVENT reinforcements approaching the EVAC zone. XCOM was sandwiched in between two heavily armed forces. The mysterious sniper didn’t help – most of the shots missed, but those that connected scored arms and legs and further slowed the Menace team.

“Need a breath,” Langlade gasped as she fell behind her teammates. They kept a steady stream of fire towards the incoming Mutons. “Just– a sec–“

Galarza stared at the Grenadier with fogged eyes. “I’m not the… not the one…”

“Possibly psionic influence,” the Commander murmured. “Just like the Base technicians…”

The horde of ADVENT troopers advancing from the rear grew ever closer.

“It’s do or die,” Bradford warned his Commander. “He’s a good source of intel. He could also be a walking time bomb.”

The Commander chewed her lip.

“You’ve got ADVENT incoming,” Bradford said, trying to tamp down the panic. Langlade had three grenades left, and they wouldn’t save her from the reinforcements. “Make the decision!”

“1-1, fire.”

Langlade racked her gun and sprayed in Galarza’s general direction. Bits of the ADVENT collaborator splattered across the road.

“Status confirmed, mission accomplished,” Bradford said, though it didn’t feel half like a victory. “Leave the corpse and EVAC out.”

The Commander started to protest, but he held up a hand. “They’re five seconds away from being overrun. We can’t save optics now.”

She subsided.

It was tight, but the Menace team made it.

The Skyranger flew off into the cloudy skies, leaving a sea of corpses in its wake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Finally have some free time to write.
> 
> XCOM: War of the Chosen trailer is out! There will be some elements of the DLC in this story, because I pick and choose things and angry Troll dolls are currently not on the list.
> 
> Soldiers deployed:  
> \- Akira (Cpt. Yoshida), Specialist, squad leader, accompanied by EI-N, INJURED = 2 days  
> \- Dynamite (Lt. Teuku), Grenadier, INJURED = 2 days  
> \- 1-4 (Sq. Novik), Specialist, GREMLIN in need of repairs, INJURED = 2 days  
> \- 1-3 (Sq. Jung), Sharpshooter, INJURED = 2 days  
> \- 1-2 (Sq. Grímsson), Ranger, INJURED = 5 days  
> \- 1-1 (Sq. Langlade), Grenadier, INJURED = 4 days


	26. Arrakis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More relationship re-evaluating than a performance review at the office. It's XCOM: the sitcom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrakis, of the Draco constellation: the dancer.

Though the mission had been successful, Bradford felt like he was conducting a funeral service. Yoshida’s confirmation that the ADVENT sniper had lived further plummeted the mood. Any lower, and Bradford would put his money on someone fellating their pistol in the next five minutes. 

“You did good,” Bradford said, cutting off Langlade’s mumbled recount of Galarza’s death. “Hand in your AARs by 17:00.” The assembled soldiers groaned. He picked up his tablet, where Agreste’s collated data waited. “Poof now. You’re free for the rest of your shift.”

“Langlade,” the Commander called from her seat. The corporal looked up and stopped dragging her feet. “If you’d like to talk, my door’s open.”

Langlade saluted. “Thanks, sir. Think I’m good.”

The Commander stifled a yawn in her hand, and then turned to the last person in the room. “What did Agreste find?”

Bradford stopped on a chat log. It was from the Lisbon ADVENT city center, logged for April 15th at 9:30 PM. Galarza had met with an _architect_ of all people. At 12 AM on the same day, after XCOM was licking its wounds and tending to the newly recovered team RWBY, Papillon had sent word of the AVATAR project. Eight days later, and Papillon had contacted the Swedish cell. The Swedish cell reported an uptick in ADVENT patrols in the region. A pattern began to emerge as Bradford went through the rest of the data. Papillon would contact a cell, and then ADVENT activity in the region went up. Supply chains were being cut in two: Rengel’s friends couldn’t reach the drop point to deliver XCOM’s supplies when roads were thick with patrols. Resistance scouts were going missing. Cells reported that nomadic families no longer visited their Havens.

He reported it to his Commander in disbelief. “Can’t be that easy.” Bradford rubbed his eyes. “Doubt ADVENT’d hire a human to design a processing plant for _humans_.”

“Correlation isn’t causation.” The Commander hummed. “Papillon may have drawn unwanted attention to the cells just by contacting them.”

Agreste had marked one chat log in bright red. Papillon had communicated with a woman from a Resistance cell in Uzbekistan. XCOM didn’t have any close ties with that region; at best, Bradford knew this cell through the grapevine. The same cell had reported her missing and included a short description of her appearance, in case she had turned traitor. The missing Resistance fighter was the first human in all the surrounding regions to attempt any sort of assault on the Blacksite.

“The Informant told us that several groups had failed to assault the facility,” the Commander said.

Bradford brought up the Blacksite tapes and fast-forwarded until Teuku found the corpse.

The clothes matched.

“We ran together, after ADVENT set up. Can’t believe he turned.” Bradford closed the grisly video. “Thought he might’ve been in the Blacksite… almost wish he was.”

“I thought the Remnant armor would give us the edge.” The Commander rubbed her forehead. “Either the Dust is too poor quality, or our soldiers are incapable of using Dust-augmented weaponry. But if ADVENT has Aura, it’s useless.”

“You think the ADVENT Captain had Aura?”

“Rose’s Aura is capable of igniting the armor.” She pulled up the autopsy of the Lady Viper. “ADVENT may be researching how to give their soldiers Aura. Perhaps that’s the purpose of the Theoi project.”

“For cannon fodder? Wasteful. You said it yourself; ADVENT’s running low on supplies. Still, I’ll keep an ear out for facility leads.” Bradford chewed his lip. “Nice of ADVENT to label their elites. Where’s all that Dust from, anyways? Would’ve been nice to have it in 2015.”

“Schnee suggested artificial synthesis,” the Commander said with a sigh. “The Blacksite samples were of higher purity than anything she isolated. Perhaps those were the last to be mined before Remnant fell.”

“We’ll scavenge what we can from the Blacksite. Then we’ll check the Remnant Facility,” Bradford said, pulling the world map onscreen. The rosebud icon in the Norwegian taiga, where the rest of team RWBY had been rescued, pulsed. “It’s May, should have defrosted by now. I’ll send orders to the labs and engineering.”

 

* * *

 

“At last, we can put this poor man to rest,” Tygan muttered, inserting the key to open the drawer containing Qrow Branwen’s body.

“Any objections, Doctor?” Bradford asked. “Someone else could do the autopsy.”

Whereas the other alien corpses had begun to decompose, even in the freezer, the Remnant man looked like he was sleeping among clouds of ice crystals.

“No. But it disturbs me,” Tygan said as he looked over the still face, “that there could be others who bear the same faces as we, out there in the vast universe. And they were not the first to fall to the Elders’ machinations.” Tygan shook his head. “You’ll have your answers, Central.”

Bradford nodded. He caught sight of long white hair, bundled into a tight ponytail, disappearing behind a corner. “This was Rose’s uncle?” Tygan affirmed it. “Kick Schnee and Rose out once you start.” Bradford gestured at the corpse. “It might raise some painful memories. We’ve had enough suffering today.”

 

* * *

 

Her Aura flared, warning her of impending danger. Weiss sighed and put away the Dust. Impurities within the Dust’s crystal structure dampened her ability to coax out the substance’s more intriguing properties. Another fruitless day of work, while Blake and Yang killed aliens and Ruby made guns. Somehow, Weiss was the load. And her invention – the Remnant augmented armor – was useless.

She stripped off her gloves and deposited them in the bin; the nitrile would be recycled to make fresh, sterile gloves. XCOM’s science team couldn’t afford to waste anything. Yet here she was, messing around with chemicals and a notebook, with barely a clue to XCOM’s dusty problem.

The Avenger tilted almost 30˚ to the left, then abruptly righted itself again.

There was a loud thump above the science labs. Glass shattered.

_-Professor Port’s body was flung off the Deathstalker’s tail, flying straight into a pillar of black crystal–_

Weiss shook her head. The more she interacted with Dust, the more frequent the flashbacks became. Most were traumatic… except those concerning a certain rose-tinted reaper. Those were problematic. Ruby hadn’t made a single sound about remembering the nights they had spent, under a coverlet of stars, fingers questing beneath armor and lips pressed to the soft skin of her belly. She didn’t remember their failure to keep Shade Academy safe, and how Weiss had sobbed out her heart into Ruby’s lap as her partner carded her hair and whispered, “ _it’s okay. It’s gonna get better_.” They had never done anything beyond cuddling, not when the world was burning and Ruby was leading the charge to put out the fire. 

But if Ruby didn’t remember …

“–check that all the supplies are secured,” Dr. Tygan ordered as he exited the dissection room. “Fill out paperwork or something that doesn’t involve–“

The Avenger shook like a leaf in a tornado.

“Sorry, folks,” Central said over the intercom, “turbulence ahead. Strap in.”

“Now he tells us,” Roquiny grumbled as he wiped down the counter.

Tygan looked equally unhappy at the shattered separation flasks. “Maybe we should train someone else to pilot the Avenger. We're never going to get any work done if Mr. Bradford can't keep the ship steady.”

Mu Lan stumbled into the labs just as the Avenger heaved again and threw everyone to the floor.

“Petition to buy Central a flying simulator,” Ortiz groaned as she staggered to her feet. “Or make him do time in whatever Firebrand uses. Is he drunk?”

“Maybe if you sell off all the alcohol he drinks, we can afford it,” Fong said, flashing the bird in the general direction of the Bridge. “Aw, fuck. Sorry, sir–“

“You’ve worked hard for the Blacksite assault,” Mu Lan said as she pinched her nose. Tacky blood covered her cheeks. “Why not take a break?”

“I’ll go tackle the models,” Ortiz grumbled, “and give Adler a hand.”

“I’ll help you with the CAD,” Roquiny added, jogging after Ortiz.

“Gonna take your advice, sir,” Fong mumbled. The scientist nearly ran for his quarters in the hallway leading to the labs.

“We should leave,” Tygan said, eyeing the power core humming away in the lab’s center, “before Bradford’s flying makes projectiles of us all. Commander, Schnee, I have some coffee in my room if you’d like some.”

“Sounds lovely.” The Commander used her sleeve to daub away the blood. “Do you have any chores? I’m afraid I can’t sleep.”

“What happened, Mu – Com… Tangent?” Weiss inquired as they walked out.

“Call me whatever you like. Our esteemed pilot’s flying threw me out of bed,” Mu Lan said, removing her hand. Weiss looked closer: the older woman’s pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, and she breathed unusually hard considering the labs were only an elevator’s ride away. “We should invest in Velcro and sleeping bags.”

“I will check for a concussion later.” Tygan shook his head. He tapped his ID card onto a scanner. “We do have some laundry.”

 

Tygan’s room was like the man himself: cold, clean and austere. As the Chief Science Officer, he had a private room about the size of RWBY’s sleeping quarters. The far wall was lined with shelves, holding various tattered books and binders behind crossbars to keep them in place. A once neatly-made bed, pillows now lying on the floor along with a massive pile of laundry, sat in the corner. The only signs Tygan lived in these quarters were the chipped superhero figurines perched next to the console. That, and the coffee spilled over the floor.

“…I am generally neater than this.” Tygan swept a towel off his desk to mop up the coffee, then hurried to right the laundry basket.

“I’m not judging.” Mu Lan started to fold the pair of slacks closest to her. “Tygan, is this _everyone_ in the lab’s clothing?”

“If I don’t do the laundry, who will?” Tygan huffed. “It’s as if I was at university all over again. Very well. Coffee.” He looked at the coffee pot, a long crack going down its side, flung from its spot near the console. “I’ll return in fifteen minutes. Please, have a seat anywhere.” The Avenger shuddered, throwing the doctor into the door. “For Christ’s sake, Bradford!” he mumbled as he walked off.

Mu Lan had already assembled a pile of clothes. She set them on the floor next to her, arranging the shirts and pants by the scientist who owned them. “How are you, Weiss? We haven’t had the chance to talk since the mysterious green light.”

Weiss sat down and started folding a sweater. “I could be doing more.”

“You help us fight the Grimm,” Mu Lan said, smoothing the creases in a lab coat. “It’s okay to take a step back and breathe.” She laughed to herself. "Is everyone on board a self-destructive workaholic?"

“The _armor caught fire_ ,” Weiss said, hands tightening on the light grey wool. “Jung could’ve died because my work wasn’t good enough.”

“I made the decision to send him out. You couldn’t have predicted the Sniper.”

Weiss shook her head. “My work, my responsibility. I’m finally free of the SDC’s shadow. And what do I do? I almost get someone killed.”

“You’ve set the foundation,” Mu Lan said in that same soothing tone. “Science starts with mistakes. But we can improve, and ultimately save more lives.”

“That doesn’t help the people who die.” Weiss straightened the sweater.

“People will live because of those improvements.” Mu Lan finished folding the lab coats and started on the shirts. “Were there other ways to use Dust on Remnant?”

“Weaponry, strengthening materials, melding it to bodies…” Weiss pursed her lips. “I think I could use my Aura to heal with Dust. Dust wasn’t really used that way…”

– _Yang, catatonic, her right arm missing below the shoulder, and Blake crawled over to hold her partner’s hand even as blood leaked from her belly–_

“Weiss?”

The former heiress inhaled, then exhaled. “It might be good to try,” she said, proud that her voice was steady.

“Flashbacks?” Mu Lan offered a sympathetic smile.

Weiss hesitated. The older woman had been a lifeline, back when the world was green light and electric pain. Now that she was Weiss’s superior, it didn’t seem right to unload her feelings.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Mu Lan checked the cuffs of socks for nametags. “Twenty years later, and I still dream of XCOM HQ burning.” She found two embroidered with an O. “I was in mission control. A technician knocked me out.” The older woman bundled the socks together. “The soldiers defending the base had to protect me as well. Colonel Pretorius died shielding me. If I had been in my office instead…”

“You said it yourself. You couldn’t have known. Well, now I feel silly.” Weiss gathered her underwear and began to fold them. There was an unspoken agreement not touch any of the others’ undergarments. “I was… thinking of someone I…” She blushed. “It is silly. They’re still alive.”

Mu Lan nodded. 

“I don’t know if she feels the same way,” Weiss said softly, setting a hand on her sweater. The Avenger shook, destabilizing the neat piles once again. “I don’t know how much time passed since the aliens took us. I barely see her now. What if we’ve changed too much?”

“…I’m getting old. Everyone I knew and loved is dead.” Mu Lan twisted her hands. “Are you okay with the possibility of dying without telling her?”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Then you move on. You acknowledge that you’re better as friends, and you love them as a friend.” Mu Lan looked down. “Or you could join separate sides, be contracted to kill each other, fail, and ultimately end up on the same team when the aliens show up. One is more productive than the other.”

Weiss choked on sudden, inappropriate laughter. “Are you talking about Taiyang and Raven? Or is this story classified?”

“I’m going to protect those idiots’ privacy,” Mu Lan said. “There’s no harm in trying, if you’re as good friends as you say.”

The door slid open. Tygan bore a wet washcloth and three dented travel mugs, steam rising from their lids, on a tray. The doctor looked rather flustered.

“Only Bradford could make retrieving coffee an exercise in caution,” Tygan said, handing Weiss one. “Sugar, Dr. Schnee?” 

 

* * *

 

It was unusual for Resistance HQ to contact them directly. It was even more unusual for Vincent to request a private meeting without the Commander. Since he had found the Commander sleeping in the corridor leading to the labs, Bradford was more inclined to let her sleep. 

“She’s going behind your goddamn back!” Vincent growled. “Telling us, of all people, to prepare for an ADVENT attack? We are the HQ! We've got the best people here, and if we give it up, the Resistance’s got nowhere to go.”

“I’ve sorted it out,” Bradford said. “Just in case–“

“That fucking–“ Vincent nearly smashed his coffee cup against the terminal. The clay teacup dropped to the floor and shattered out of sight. “So she’s poisoned you too? All right, John. You got two options. Pick a side now, because I’m not giving you another chance.”

The Central Officer restrained a sigh. His old friend was hot tempered, if one was inclined to be polite, and an old stubborn fuck, if one was not. “Vincent, she’s got a po–“

“Look at all the fucks I give,” Vincent snarled. “I run this shindig, and I’ve done so for almost a decade without an uppity bitch trying to tell me how to do things. We can hold out here. _You_ , on the other hand, are relying on us. Either the Commander and I have a little talk about who’s in charge, or we won’t send out the monthly supply drop.”

“Your work is worldwide, and we need you, that’s absolutely true,” Bradford said, panic burning within his chest. “What are you going to do to prepare?”

“After being manipulated all this time? I want the Commander in my base, for a man to man talk.”

“You’ve got ADVENT patrols watching. It’s too much of a security risk." 

“They’ve gone quiet,” Vincent snapped, “sort of like you these days, huh?”

Bradford held out his hands. “Vincent, everything is going to hell–“

“Seems like you care more about your precious Commander than your men and friends.” The office chair squealed, as Vincent leaned back with that damnable smirk on his lips. “Some Central Officer you are.”

“Let’s work something out.” He resisted the urge to throw something at someone. The Commander, for leaving him in the dark; Vincent, for being petty; ADVENT, for creating this whole mess. “XCOM can–“

“You’ve made your choices, and I’ve made mine. Unless it’s to arrange a meeting, this is the end for us.” Vincent’s hand hovered over the screen. “Good-bye, John.”

Bradford stared at the dark screen. He was still on shift.

He took out a flask from a drawer near the console, and took a gulp.

 

* * *

 

Yang looked around at the devastation around her. She kicked at a busted shard of metal, all that remained of the Sectopod destroyed by lightning. All around her, burnt and broken bones reached out of the black mud. Green shards of glass stuck out of the trampled earth like spines on the back of an Ursa.

“ADVENT got here before we did.” Central scowled at the wide expanse where the facility _should_ have been. Where Yang expected burnt timbers and twisted train tracks, there was only a massive hole in the ground. “All right, team.” He hefted the wheelbarrow filled with alien alloys scavenged from the mud. “One more sweep for Dust, then we’re heading in.”

“I don’t sense anything,” Weiss said next to her. The Heiress pointed Myrtenaster back and forth like a dowsing rod. It seemed the Sectopods had a lot of magnesium in their computers, which made for very hot fires that Dust didn’t appreciate. “Ruby, do you see any Grimm?”

“Nope,” Yang’s sister said, the syllables popping off her lips. Ruby hugged Crescent Rose close. “I think it’s just these poor guys…”

Yang knelt. Her right arm below the shoulder ached.

Blake called her name.  

“It’s happening again,” Yang whispered. The last days of Remnant flashed into her head, clearer now that there were anchors to drag them into the present. Beacon had fallen after the White Fang attacked. Mistral’s academy had followed six months after. “What am I forgetting, what am I forgetting…”

 

– _Raven tore open a portal and charged after Salem, but when the portal reopened only a bone mask was ejected out–_

_–She looked to Ironwood, praying he would make the council see reason, but the councilwoman stood and said, “No. Atlas will close its borders.”–_

_–The old cabin in the woods was abandoned. Summer’s grave was in ruins, wrecked by the lumbering monsters in green armor that had torn through the forest, searching, searching for summer and spring and winter–_

Blake’s arms were wrapped around her. “Yang. Yang. Talk to me, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“They’re dead!” Yang screamed into her partner’s embrace. “They’re dead, and they’re gone, and it’s gonna happen _again!_ ”

“No. Yang, listen to me,” Blake said as she held her shuddering partner. “We’re partners, you and me. We’re going to make it through.”

Yang grasped at the memories, trying to pull them out of the murk. They disappeared just as quickly as they had surfaced. But Blake was there, and she was solid and warm and lovable. Yang closed her eyes and rested her head against the Cat Faunus’s chest.

 

* * *

While the rest of team RWBY helped load metal into the Avenger’s Hangar, Weiss went straight for the labs. She stopped at the dissection room’s door. Her Aura hummed, in a way that only raw Dust from the SDC mines could. She knocked, putting on a facemask as she waited.

“Is there an emergency?” Tygan asked as he emerged.

Weiss brushed past him, and winced. Weiss had never liked Qrow that much, but it looked wrong to have him on a slab, with his organs laid open to the light. Her body hummed with energy, growing only stronger as she passed a hand over the man’s liver. “Tygan, cut there,” she said insistently. “Please, trust me.”

Tygan did so.

Tiny crystals of white Dust sprouted from the liver spotted with cirrhosis scars.

 

* * *

The Avenger was landed near the remains of the Remnant facility, as team RWBY looked for more of their peoples’ corpses. Just their luck that one of their best weapons was actually Soylent Green. It seemed that yet again, ADVENT had beaten them to the punch. After sunrise, team RWBY would head out again. 

The Central Officer wanted to do one more check of the Avenger before heading in. Though Dr. Shen and his daughter had cleared the ship of aliens – the elder dying to do so – Bradford wanted every level of the ship battle-ready. If that meant having four closets, stocked with rations, bandages, guns and ammo on each level, so be it.

Bradford scanned the hallways near the main stock room. His headlamp suffused the steel passageways with a cold diffuse light. It was up to the Maglite in his right hand to brighten the way. Bradford didn’t like having his weapon hand occupied, but there was no reason to wear his rifle aboard the Avenger. Still, he felt better knowing that in he could club someone to death with the Maglite before getting a hold of the pistol at his belt.

Osei’s contact had given him that gun, back when the Commander’s survival was a mere whisper in the wind. Bradford had modded it heavily before handing it back. It was comforting, even though the magnetic weapons currently in use outclassed the weapon. He’d have to ask Shen if she could get his gun to fire mag rounds. It would be a shame for all the mods to go to waste.

Moans floated through the air. Bradford immediately swapped his Maglite for his pistol, fearing a zombie. And zombies meant Chryssalids.

He stopped. XCOM hadn’t yet seen one of those nasty critters. The insectoid monsters were probably too difficult for even ADVENT to control.

“Chris, hush up,” Kelly hissed in between grunts, “don’t wanna get caught.”

"S-sorry - god, you're beautiful–"

Bradford sighed. In the linens room. They were contaminating the bedsheets for the soldiers’ quarters and the AWC. Once his rounds were done, he’d look into retrofitting a closet for would-be lovers. Bradford understood the need for privacy; the soldiers slept on bunk beds, after all. He also understood the need for blankets that weren’t stained with random bodily fluids.

The Central Officer went to check the panic rooms, as Shen had called them. Ammo could and did go bad. He'd give the duo ten mintes.

When he came back down the hall, the moaning had subsided.

Bradford took his Maglite, and banged it against the door to the tune of _shave-and-a-haircut._

That would teach them. Well, that and being assigned to wash all of the bedsheets. Someone else could take a turn being responsible aboard the Avenger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something relatively light and fluffy this time. Next chapter: it's not paranoia if everyone's out to get you.


	27. Gienah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world you once knew, Commander, is gone.
> 
> Or: Bradford is the least responsible role model, and should never be near small children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wing, of the Corvus constellation
> 
> (Mainly world-building this chapter. Fighting and angst in the next!)

“ADVENT stole our memories.” Weiss paced around RWBY’s barracks. “They took our friends, almost took our lives, and now they’ve taken our families’ bodies?”

Ruby sat in the corner, unusually quiet. Weiss quickly squeezed her partner’s hand. “I know some of our friends are onboard. But at least we can bury them! We’ll get some measure of respect for… for existing. Is that too much to ask?”

“Really?” Ruby asked dully. Weiss’s heart ached. The red-cloaked reaper had not been the same, since the morning’s mission confirmed the Remnant facility was empty. She sat next to her partner. Ruby laid her head against Weiss’s shoulder.

“I can’t imagine Mu Lan would disrespect a body.” Nonetheless, Weiss brought out her tablet, and shot off a note to the Commander.

Blake sat up on her bunk. “But Central would, if it meant winning the war.”

“What’s his deal with you, anyways?” Yang punched her pillow. “I don’t get it. The side-eye, the side-stepping… everyone else is cool. Why’s the old guy racist?”

The Cat Faunus raised a hand to the ears usually hidden beneath a bow. “It was this way back on Remnant. Why should it be different here?”

“He’s gotta’ve seen ears or tails before.” Yang scowled. “Weiss, who’s onboard?”

“Junior Xiong. Ciel Soleil. A lizard Faunus who was in the White Fang,” Blake said woodenly. “An old lion Faunus man. A girl who looks like Jaune. And Qrow. Remember? We helped name them while we were in isolation.”

“Classified, classified, not available for R-3 personnel and below,” Weiss murmured. She scrolled through Tygan’s notes on the biochemistry and anatomy of Remnant inhabitants. The scientists thoroughly investigated to ensure that a rescued team RWBY would be able to survive on Earth. If only she could read most of it. “Really, I’m their only Dust researcher, I should have higher clearance.”

“You’ve got my seal of approval,” Ruby said, “if that helps?”

Her tablet dinged.

 

> _Clearance upgraded to R-5 for the next 5 h. Notify me when finished. – R. Tygan_

“Why is the doctor using Mu Lan’s tablet?” Weiss shrugged and searched through the files. “Ah, here’s something from mid March. _These bodies were recovered from the assaults on the Sunset, Dusk, Eclipse, and Dawn facilities_ ,” Weiss read from her tablet. “ _Bodies M35, F19, F22, M70, and F12 show no signs of decomposition, and have been kept for further biochemical study. Other bodies were photographed for identification. Those individuals have been buried at [INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE] according to ceremonies as remembered from correspondence with Corundum. –R. Tygan. Authorization: CDR Jian_.”

“Mu Lan did autopsies?” Yang shook her head. “Jeez, when does she sleep?”

“I think she just signed off on it.” Weiss blew out a breath, as if she had been socked in the gut. “I don’t know what to do, Blake. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” the Cat Faunus asked.

“I wondered why we – the Schnee Dust Company - didn’t move to automate Dust mining.” Weiss set her tablet on her bunk, then folded her hands upon her lap. “It’s far more efficient to use robots than workers. My father knew this. But the SDC continued to hire – and mistreat – Faunus labor. Hundreds of Faunus died in the mines. Cave-ins, Grimm attacks, accidents… but we continued. I never questioned why the workers were buried in the mines, instead of being shipped to their families. I had assumed it was too dangerous to recover them… or that there was not enough left to recover.”

“And you found the Dust growing in… in my uncle’s body,” Ruby whispered.

Blake’s eyes widened until they were golden orbs, shining in the dim light. Yang reached up from her bunk and squeezed her partner’s hand.

Weiss squeezed her eyes shut. “If Dust… my father – the SDC – we were monsters.”

Outside the team’s bunks, Weiss could hear the chatter of soldiers on their break. There was a rhythmic thumping against the far wall, interspersed with groans of disgust and sighs of, “we all know what you’re doing there, you two.” Someone was singing in a foreign language. Glasses clinked. All of it echoed in the silence permeating every pore of team RWBY’s room.

The former SDC heiress heard Blake slide off her bunk, and storm out.

 

* * *

 

“Well, shit. HQ cut off communications?” Odinson leaned back on the sofa in the Commander’s Quarters. Bradford winced at the squeak. “There’s no supply drop in sight. ADVENT’s gonna retaliate. And Julia’ll have my ass for no-showing.”

“Isn’t your kid’s birthday soon?” Without ROV-R hovering over Shen’s shoulder, the engineer looked off-kilter. But while XCOM’s head staff had their weekly meeting, ROV-R was holding down the fort in Engineering.

“Four days or so. May 9th, I think?” Odinson blew on his coffee. “Was hoping to call, if ADVENT’s not paying attention. In case…”

As he ate his bread roll, Bradford gave his fellow soldier a sympathetic look. Odinson hadn’t been married during the initial invasion: he was a decade younger than Bradford, and it showed in his enthusiasm for the battlefield. After XCOM’s third iteration, Odinson had returned to his native Norway and been accepted into the Bergen Megacity. The Ranger had struck up a friendship with an ADVENT engineer, and when ADVENT ordered her termination, had spirited them both to freedom. Heidi was born at the Swiss Resistance HQ. Under Odinson’s lead, HQ had tracked Bradford down to the Black Forest. The XCOM veteran wanted a world free of ADVENT for his daughter. Still, the distance hurt.

“All he wants is a talk?” Shen asked. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Show Rengel the tanks from the Blacksite feed,” the Commander said, uncharacteristically ignoring Shen. “An intel trade: one family for another.”

Shen side-eyed the Commander, then took a bite of her dandelion salad.

Bradford checked his inbox. According to Green in the Resistance Comms, a Jordanian Haven bordering the Irradiated Zone had gone dark. He raised the alarm, then, “Sir, will we inform the rest of the Resistance about the Blacksite?”

“I’d rather not,” the Commander said. “Morale is low enough as it is.”

“It would encourage people not to return to the cities,” Tygan said. “The Nigerian cell’s recent hemorrhagic flu outbreak was quite the incentive.”

“Rengel may not be talking to us. But he’s still talking with the Resistance to organize refugees.” Yoshida poured herself a cup of mushroom tea. “I know a few runners. They could seed the info in the cities when they get the refugees.”

“More people would be on our side if they knew the truth,” Shen said.

Bradford mulled it over. Sent to a re-education camp in Hungary, Yoshida was a former gangster from Osaka. ADVENT’s restrictions on international travel had severely hampered her organization’s international activities. Yoshida hadn’t heard from the East Asia branch in years, but her ring in Central Europe successfully moved cargo between cities. “It’d be stronger if we show all of ADVENT’s dirty laundry. Harder to dismiss it as just a splinter cell.”

“Th’wash tha’ bare’alihve guy,” Odinson said, his mouth full of cattail dumpling. He swallowed. “If people know we didn’t try to save them, morale will sink.”

“Show everyone only the tanks,” the Commander decided. “Rengel lost his wife to the gene therapy clinics. How they were brought to the Blacksite is not pertinent.”

“Speaking of which, Schnee requests access to the rest of the Remnant bodies.” Tygan set down his coffee and prepared to write on his tablet. “With your permission, Commander, I will ask her to first practice on the Troopers.”

The Commander rubbed her bruised nose. “Granted, though I’d prefer it if she focused on Dust healing.”

Bradford’s tablet beeped. “Got word from the Ukrainian Resistance,” he said, scrolling through the message. “They’d like some help setting up a radio relay. It’d give us a foot into contacting New India.”

“Can’t we just put up a relay in East Africa?” Yoshida sipped her tea. “Or are they still not talking with New India?”

“That, and there’s glassed zones from India to Saudi Arabia.” Shen projected the Hologlobe from her tablet. “There’s too much ADVENT activity, between cleaning up radiation and setting up new megacities, to make it worthwhile.”

“The aliens rarely hit the Middle East with terror attacks,” Bradford mused, looking at the black blotches indicating no-fly zones on Shen’s annotated Hologlobe. Those zones were not necessarily irradiated: some were megacities, others were shipping lanes, and yet others were quarantined by ADVENT of all people.  “Wonder why they're helping that bloc out so much. Maybe Chryssalids are forcing everyone into cities.”

“Haven’t seen one of those nasty fucks yet.” Odinson shuddered. “Not looking towards them popping up again.”

“What is a Chryssalid?” Tygan asked.

“The stuff of nightmares,” Bradford said flatly, “when they’re two stories tall and popping out of goddamn whales.”

Tygan looked at the Commander. “The reason Canada gave up.” His superior sighed and looked at her lunch, which lay still untouched on the coffee table. “Bradford, we’ll fly to Ukraine in four hours, give Tygan and Shen some time to work. In the meantime, I have some rounds to make. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Well, that was depressing,” Odinson said after the Commander had left.

Yoshida punched her fellow soldier’s shoulder. “Cheer up, old man. Best case scenario, you celebrate Heidi’s birthday with your family.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s gone?” Giuseppe whispered, his fingers splayed over his face. Grief drowned eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea. “This… this is how my son died?”

“I’m afraid so,” Bradford said, as gentle as he could. It didn’t come naturally to the beat-down veteran. “We saw the same containers in the clinics.”

Giuseppe slowly lowered his hands. Bradford flinched as they approached the revolver on the Ukrainian Haven spelunker’s hip. But Giuseppe chose to scratch at his arms, until red streaks scored his pale withered arms.

“You come here, and you ask for more sons,” he said, “so they can die for you.”

“That’s not true, Giuseppe,” Evelyn said. “XCOM needs new recruits to save more people from the clinics. They fight so ADVENT splits fewer families.”

“You won’t take any more sons!” The man drew his revolver and waved it at Bradford. “Not mine, not theirs – no more are going to die for your cause!”

“Put the gun down, Giuseppe!” Evelyn snapped. “This won’t bring your son back!””

“They were dead, possibly at the clinics,” Bradford said, doing his best to keep his voice even. The crucifix pendant around the agitated man’s neck bounced, as he ran his hands over the gun. Bradford had to de-escalate. “We did our best to–“

“You could’ve fought them earlier, you could’ve saved him!” Giuseppe lunged at Bradford, knocking the Central Officer to the ground. The other man began to bang Bradford’s head against the ground. Evelyn attempted to pull Giuseppe off, but madness empowered him. “You killed him! I’ll kill you!”

Bradford knocked Giuseppe’s revolver loose. He pressed it to the side of Giuseppe’s head and fired. Blood misted the air. Giuseppe collapsed.

Evelyn clapped her hands to her ears and stared at the prone body. Her mouth moved, but the earplug function of his headset had yet to recover. Once the ringing died down, Bradford heard her say, “Did you have to kill him? We’re already short on manpower without the Nazi raids.”

“Bit late now.” Bradford wiped the gore off his face. “Burial rites?”

“I’ll start digging,” she said finally. “I hope you know the Catholic last rites, because we don’t have a priest.”

Though Giuseppe had already expired, Bradford recited what he knew of the Viaticum. He took the crucifix and wrapped Giuseppe’s fingers around it. Even with the life drained from his body, Giuseppe’s eyes were fixed on Bradford: burning with hate, like two dark coals set into that graying face.

Evelyn emerged from the mouth of Ozerna cave with two spades in hand. She motioned to a spot in the distance, in clear sight of the Avenger and the XCOM soldiers welding the framework of the Resistance Radio tower together.

“I can’t believe he snapped.” Evelyn hoisted Giuseppe’s corpse over her shoulder. “All the others were just shocked. He seemed such a quiet man too.”

“They had families and friends to help them through.” Bradford sighed and checked the revolver. There had only been one cartridge, most likely to ensure ADVENT would never take Giuseppe alive. “Also, not armed. Any more left?”

“The Santos.” Evelyn set down Giuseppe. His body barely dented the thick carpet of grass. “Are we doing the right thing?” She cut deep into the ochre earth. “Nazi bandits roam the land. We scrounge for the merest scrap. People go to sleep hopeless and never wake up. At least in the cities, they don’t die of despair.”

“ADVENT would rather have us die slaves.” Bradford looked at the soldiers as he dug. Green playfully shoved Evora, who shoved him back. Kelly menaced the two with her welding torch. Rose was busy hammering two pieces of metal together, aided by a Santos daughter. “We’re still fighting. We will get our planet back.”

The grave dug, the duo lowered Giuseppe into the ground. They were the only mourners: the old man had driven everyone else away in his last days. “Hope you find your son on the other side,” Bradford murmured, as he buried the body.

Evelyn tossed the last shovelful of dirt onto the grave. “A scientist passed by four days ago. Left a message for you.”

“Surprised they didn’t stick around,” Bradford said, wiping his hands off on his slacks. “Didn’t think they had labs out in the wild.”

“This one wasn’t allied with Fire Axis, the scientist group. Gave us the coordinates to some place. Holds intel, according to him. Thought you could use them.”

“Leave a name?”

“Ophidian.” Evelyn looked at the cave entrance. It was partially obscured by boulders and a thick hedge, hardly any protection, but XCOM’s soldiers had welded a set of blast doors just inside. “We’ve started retrofits, in case ADVENT attacks… I just hope we never have to put them to the test.”

 

Blake’s ears flattened against her head at the whoosh of air. It sounded like a baby’s cry. The ceiling-mounted candles cast burgundy shadows on the beige gypsum walls. The two XCOM’s soldiers’ hammers banged against wood struts, driving nails into the junctions between planks. Cohen supervised their work, and on occasion, criticized Blake’s form and Teuku’s butter fingers. Apparently there was a right way to hammer.

“Spooky.” Teuku looked around. His hammer slipped. “Any ghosts down here?”

Cohen considered the duo. He motioned to Blake’s ears. “Not human, are you?”

“So what if I’m not?” Blake asked, every hair of her being bristling.

Teuku unconsciously raised his fists. “She’s one of us."

“Calm down, boy, just a question.” Cohen looked up at the water dripping off the stalactites. “So you wouldn’t know anything about World War Two. Are you from the cities, or the havens?” he asked, motioning to Teuku.

“They told us a lotta people died,” Teuku said carefully, picking up his hammer, “and we needed the Elders to keep us from nuking ourselves again.”

Blake had wondered if Earth had any major wars like the ones that had wracked the four kingdoms. It seemed she would get her answer. “What happened?”

“In that war, a group called the Nazis decided there was a pure race.” The balding man motioned for the two to sit. The stone below Blake was cold, almost wet. “Those who weren’t pure were sub-human, animals in their eyes. I’m a Jew. The Nazis rounded up thousands like me, sent them to camps and gassed us en masse. There were few places to run from them.” Cohen ran a hand over the glittering walls. “Some Jews tried to hide in Verteba Cave, not too far from here. It lacked ventilation, so they could not light candles. They lived like rats in the dark.” He shook his head. “They had to flee after the Nazi secret police launched a raid. I believe one of their neighbors told on them. So they came here.”

Teuku looked stricken. She raised an eyebrow. He mouthed, _later._

“Did anyone help them?” Blake asked.

“Some of the villagers brought them food, lights. Others tried to bury them alive.” In the candlelight, Cohen looked more ghost than flesh. “95% of Ukraine’s Jews died. The Ozerna Jews lived here for nigh two years, but they survived.”

“Is it okay to be here?” Teuku looked around at their handiwork, which would soon hold reinforced concrete. Bare, it looked more like the skeleton of a rotted building than the refuge of the persecuted. “This should be a museum.”

“With ADVENT in charge and survivors like my grandfather dead, nobody’s left to remember those days. Why else would we have Nazi bandits running around?” Cohen sighed. “You look troubled, girl.”

“Xiao Long went after you when you stormed out of the barracks,” Teuku added. “You pretty much disappeared into thin air. She was really worried.”

Blake looked at her hands. She raised one to touch her ears, and considered flash-stepping away from the conversation. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” That was a lie: she wanted to talk with team RWBY, but she was reluctant to face Weiss. And Yang. Her partner, her friend. Even if it was at the end of an uncomfortable conversation, Blake had still run away.

“We all have our secrets,” Cohen said. “But if you’re thinking of something similar… Evelyn, right? This Haven’s head. Her family’s German, even if she’s from South Africa. Probably fought with the very people who would’ve gassed me. But she’s not responsible for her family. Evelyn’s fighting to keep us all safe. We are the sums of our ancestor’s sins, but we can be so much more.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s not enough,” Agreste said, his voice low and strangled, floating out of the propped-open Quarters’ door. “I don’t know enough, sir, I’m just a dentist who knows enough to knock people out. And what if they don’t wake up when they’re on my table? Look at Urist. She’s still in a coma. The drugs I give keep her out of pain. Too much, and she’ll slip away. Fleury comes by sometimes, chats to her crush. How can I face her if I end up killing Urist?”

Bradford paused in the middle of the corridor. He checked the tablet: Agreste had temporary permission to be in the Command staff wing.

“All XCOM needs, Félix, is whatever you can accomplish,” the Commander said in a soothing tone. Bradford decided to check the staff wing’s panic room supplies while he waited. “We discussed a few strategies to manage your anxiety, was there one that stood out to you?”

The technician sighed. “Let’s try the ring. Five senses one doesn’t work for me.”

“Let’s get comfortable. Breathe deep.” The Commander inhaled. “Imagine a ring of light, starting at your toes. Let it move slowly, up to your ankles. Breathe in, and out.” As Bradford checked the pistols for rust, she walked Agreste through bringing the ring up to his shoulders, then back to his toes. “How are you feeling?”

Agreste audibly shuddered. “Itchy. Like bugs are crawling over me.”

“Well, that certainly wasn’t intended. Let’s put that one back in the toolbox.” The Commander hummed. “Your break is almost over. What about progressive muscle relaxation? I’ve sent more info on it to your inbox.”

“I’ll try it on my own later.” Though Bradford did his best to cover up the noise by reordering the ammo boxes, he still heard Agreste’s next words. “Sir… do you believe in a heaven? Like, if anything’s after this life?”

“It would be better to ask Bradford,” the Commander said carefully. “He _is_ the ship’s chaplain. I know very little about religion in comparison.”

“Just… between you and me, sir. Is all this suffering worth something? What if there’s nothing after this life? If I kill Urist, I consign her to the void! Everything she is, just – gone!”

“Breathe with me, Félix. Count to four, then breathe. Well… I believe in a somewhere. It gives me hope that I’ll see the ones I lost again. It’s just a hope. But it’s something to manage the fear.”

There was the squelch as starched pants unstuck from the Quarters’ couches. “Thanks, sir. I gotta get back to work now.”

“My door is open if you need an ear, Agreste."

Bradford waited for Agreste’s footsteps to disappear. He ventured out of the supply closet, then tapped on the still-ajar door. “Commander, you got a minute?”

The Commander’s tone shifted with the weight of authority as she rose from one of the sofas. “Would you like to talk as well, Central?”

Bradford kicked away the doorstop and stepped into the Quarters, his tablet open to an annotated map of the world. “Well, I am surprised you left the door open.”

“Accountability,” the Commander said as she went to the console. “I didn’t want rumors of fraternization.” She motioned for him to proceed.

“Found an article about the Ozerna Jews in the archives. 2004, old news. Maybe ADVENT forgot about it.” His voice hardened. “But the knowledge is still out there. We need to find more sites where the Resistance could hide if the worst happens. Know any hideouts?”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember the exact coordinates….” The Commander frowned at his map. “There should be a nuclear base in the Ural Mountains.” She took out a stylus, and circled a location high in the Russian north.

“How did you get the clearance to visit a _nuclear base?_ ”

“The Council gave me coordinates. Just in case.” She traced the no-fly zones. “Missiles launched from India, Israel and Pakistan in December 2015. Many went off target.” The Commander laughed bitterly. “If ADVENT hadn’t shot the rest down, we’d face extinction, Bradford. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve pressed the button. Or maybe I did in the suit, and that’s why the world is such a mess.”

“ADVENT had dug their claws on our planet.” Bradford tapped the former countries of China and Russia. “Think about it, Commander. China, Russia and the US all had the most nukes, and they never fired a shot. If it was human doing, we’d all be dead. But they were all Council Nations under the aliens’ sway. I say the aliens mind-controlled some poor shmucks to blame it all on the old world.”

“India was a Council Nation. Iran, Israel and Saudi Arabia all provided soldiers.”

“False flag, casus belli. How do you know any of this, anyways?”

“I listened to the ADVENT Speaker.” The Commander let out another bitter laugh. “Today is the anniversary of the Reparations Accord–”

“Don’t tell me another word, Commander, because it’s all bullshit.” Bradford suppressed the urge to throw something. This was the reason why he didn’t summarize the news for the Commander’s situation tracker anymore: it was filled with propaganda, and it lowered morale. “Don’t pay him a minute more than he damn deserves. Nothing he says is true. You saw the Blacksite! You know their idea of fixing us is melting us down into goo!”

The Commander flinched as if he had struck her, and stepped away. “Understood. I’ll sleep on it, and report back tomorrow.”

“I’ll call up the Reapers,” Bradford said, trying to dispel his frustration, “see if they know any place. No guarantees, though. We’re all spread thin.”

“Motto of the post-apocalypse,” the Commander said dryly.

 

* * *

 

Blake walked into the Bar and Memorial, a few sketches carefully tucked under her arm. Most of the spaces on the memorial were dedicated to XCOM, but there was a panel for the families of soldiers. Ramirez’s brothers were there, a few names and dates with quips like “joker” and “cabrón” jotted onto a single piece of paper. The name of Odinson’s father was written underneath that of Langlade’s cousin. Kundi had scavenged a wallet-size photo of her sister. Bradford had listed his entire family. Blake’s graphite sketches of Qrow, Taiyang, Raven, and her parents joined the rest of the remnants on the wall.

The Bar was unusually quiet, except for the chatter on the radio. Langlade fiddled with the dials, probably searching for one of the Resistance DJs who braved discovery to broadcast. Central sat at the bar, reeking of alcohol like Qrow had, staring into his beer like it held all the answers to the universe.

“– _the Elders blessed us with their forgiveness,_ ” the ADVENT Speaker crooned, “ _to rectify the mistakes of the Old World. With the Reparations Accord, ADVENT vows to restore all irradiated zones and bring you home! We thank the Elders–_ “

“Turn that damn thing off,” Central growled. “It’s all trash, nohow. You want ADVENT to come knocking?”

Langlade slammed her fist down, silencing the Speaker. “Yessir! Sorry, sir! On my way, sir!” The soldier almost tripped over herself in her haste to flee.

Blake scowled. Bullies never changed.

“What’re you looking at, kid?” Central asked, opening a bottle of whiskey.

“I was old enough to fight and die for my beliefs,” Blake retorted. “I’m hardly a child soldier.”

Central rolled his eyes. “I give it five years before you snap out of it.”

“What is wrong with you?” Blake snapped. “Why are you always so antagonistic?”

“The world is falling apart, aliens are melting down my niece, and I have to mind all you kids,” Bradford said. “Got a bottle of beer for you when it’s your turn.”

“My turn?” Blake’s ears flattened against her skull. “The very weapon essential to my home was made from the bodies of my people. I think it’s long past _my turn_.”

He saluted her with the bottle. “Just need twenty more years of this shit.”

“You are not the only one who’s suffered!” Blake stalked over to the bar. The urge to swipe the whiskey from his hand intensified, but Blake resisted. Removing alcohol from the alcoholic never ended well. “I don’t know why you’re the Central Officer–“ Central’s eyes hardened and he stood, but Blake raised her voice, “when you’re always drunk, and a racist–“

Central sat back down. “Drunk, yes. But racist?”

“My ears,” Blake said, as calmly as she could. “You don’t treat me the same way as you do my friends. You’re always shying away or scowling. If I have nothing but negative interactions with you, I’m going to presume you just don’t like the only visible alien aboard.”

“Fair.” He poured some of the amber whiskey into two glasses, then offered her one. “Old enough to die, old enough to drink.”

“You’re a paragon of good decisions,” Blake said, but sat at the bar next to her superior.

"Got a point, kid." Central motioned to the XCOM Memorial. “Since the Commander came back, we haven’t added a single photo.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” Blake tasted the whiskey. It could best be described as pungent leather, with hints of something wooden. “Why am I treated differently than the rest of aliens onboard?”

The Central Officer was silent for a moment.

“Rose, Schnee and Xiao Long look human,” he said finally. Blake’s heart sank. “They don’t look like the monsters ADVENT sent to cut us down, back in those terrible first years.”

She tensed. “Monsters? Faunus have ears or tails, but we were hardly monsters.”

“You had to be there. Bloated men with fins who exploded when shot. Women with claws that shredded throats. Men with tails who spat acid and half their guts out. All of them, their skin sloughing off, black blood and smoke bubbling off their corpses. All of them, mutated humans. Back in my day, those only existed in superhero comics. They cut us down like we were so much wheat.” Central looked at the glass cabinet in the corner. Blake wanted to cut in, but thought better of it. The old man had something he needed off his shoulders. “Don’t know where those cut n’paste monsters went. Suppose ADVENT got tired of them and ground them up into that green goo.”

“Black smoke?” The Cat Faunus closed her eyes. “ADVENT might have tried to experiment melding Grimm with humans. That never went well on Remnant.”

“Reminded me of Vahlen’s work. Madwoman, that doctor. She modded some of our soldiers, gave them extra hearts or feel-good gas. She ran off in the middle of the night. Wonder if she gave up on XCOM.” The Central Officer filled his glass with amber liquid. “The guy in the green jacket and tie, that was Lily’s dad. He chopped off limbs and stuck our soldiers in robots. We only had ballistics, things that barely dinged Sectopod armor. None of your fancy Dust stuff. I thought Meld would change the game.” He laughed. “It did. The aliens probably cut out the pieces of your people, stuck them in mine, and sent the bastards after us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blake said, spreading her hands, “but that doesn’t excuse how you treat me. I fight with XCOM because ADVENT has wronged me just as much.”

“Ain’t your fault,” Central said, gazing into the whiskey that sat in the palm of his hand. “M’ just an old, bitter man, who’s looked down too many barrels and shot far too many friends.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No. It doesn’t. I’ll smarten up, kid. You’ve more than showed your dedication to the cause.”

“I'm more than ready to fight." She eyed the half-empty bottle of whiskey, then the two empty beers. ”…what if you have to fly later?"

Central set the whiskey down on the bar. “Listen, Belladonna. You’re one of the last of your kind. How do you cope with that?”

Blake took a step back. Her ears involuntarily flattened beneath her bow. She was the last Faunus, perhaps in all of existence. It seemed everyone had to rub it in. “Well, I have team RWBY, and I… I…”

“There you go. Not the last of my species, but still a dying breed. You talk to your friends. The whiskey’s mine.” Central took a slow draught. “Anything else you’d like to air, Belladonna?”

Thoughts raced in her head. She had to get back to team RWBY, and apologize. If she hurried, she could catch Yang and Ruby in Engineering, and Weiss was probably on her break in the Labs. Blake shook herself, and quickly said, “No, sir.”

The old man looked at her. “You do good work, kid,” he said, voice softening. “Not so bitter and dead that I can’t appreciate a good shot when I see one. Maybe if the old rookies had your aim, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” He sipped from his glass. “You’d have your family… and I’d have mine.”

“It’s good to know my ears don’t block the view,” Blake said lightly. “I don’t get any reception on them.”

Central laughed, the bitterness dissipated from his voice, and waved her to the door. “Go have fun with your team, or whatever kids do these days.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this chapter written for a while, but studying for a seven hour long exam hampered my ability to post.
> 
> I imagine that in post-invasion Earth, ADVENT did some major shuffling that involved abducting and relocating thousands of non-City civilians, and that's why you are sometimes greeted by a mainly black and Hispanic Haven in the middle of Siberia. Part of the consequences were that you had a bunch of people, who didn't get along politically, shoved together. They eventually splintered off to form factions based on political or religious alignment. The level 5 panic in most countries helped the rise of nationalism, which ADVENT did their best to quash. Hence, there would be a lot of extremist groups outside the cities, who will show up now and again.
> 
> As for bandits: ADVENT has destroyed most domesticated animals and destroys crops when they find them, so if you want to feed yourself, you can forage, raid ADVENT facilities, or rob and kill other human factions. XCOM's more of a forager, since Bradford does not trust any food labeled ADVENT.


	28. Operation: Dreadful Wail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We humans have done terrible things. But there are still reasons worth fighting for.

Sirens shrieked.

Despite his headache, Bradford shot out of bed and shrugged on his weapons harness. He hooked the headset onto the shell of his ear. Where were his boots? – not by his bed, not worth getting them if the base was under attack–

“-Non-combatants, report to a safe room. Day shift soldiers to the Armory,” the Commander said over the PA. “Security status YELLOW.” Bradford’s headset chimed. “Central, do you read? I’m assembling a team to defend a Haven party. Bandits are en route.”

“Where do you need me?”

“Hangar. Talk them down if possible,” the Commander said. “Find out where they’re operating from. Shoot if necessary.”

“Done,” Bradford said, grabbing his boots under his cot. He pulled them on and joined the corridors bustling with soldiers running to defensive positions and technicians taking cover. Bradford mulled over the practicalities of keeping his armor in his room. He’d be better prepared for a raid, but Shen and her engineers would have less access to upgrade his kit.

As he entered the Armory, he caught sight of Belladonna suiting up. “Your shift’s over, Belladonna.” Bradford unclipped his weapons harness to make room for his Kevlar. “The gung-ho attitude’s great, but you’re free to head off.”

“I was ordered to aid the foraging party.” Belladonna tied her hair back.

Bradford quickly scanned the rest of the soldiers preparing to head out: Braun, Appelo, and Fleury – shouldn’t she be resting in the AWC? Bradford’s eyes widened. The Menace team was all visibly white. _Nazi_ bandits were out. 

“The hell are you doing, Commander?” Bradford muttered. How dare she put one of their soldiers in danger from other humans’ idiocy? “Belladonna, you gotta be careful with Nazis, they killed–“

“Had the history lesson yesterday,” Belladonna said as she strapped Gambol Shroud to her back, “but I appreciate the warning.”

“Everyone, helmets. If they catch you, we’ll be right after you.” Bradford considered Belladonna’s ears: she had forgone a helmet, probably needed them in the open. He selected a camo-patterned hood from the armory wall that looked to be the Faunus’s size and tossed it to her. “Now get going.”

 

* * *

 

Silence hung thick over the verdant hills and clotted reeds. Birds chirped to herald the rising sun. Heavy booted feet slowly broke through nature’s quiet murmur. If it were bandits approaching, they were not attempting to be stealthy, or had no training in such.

“Central, we’ve got contacts,” Ohuruogu said from her place at the aft of the Avenger. “Five men, all armed. I’ve got five soldiers ready to fire on your order.”

“Hold your fire.” Central descended and went around the Avenger. The ramp creaked as the ship closed up. “Something’s funny about this.”

“ _Außerirdische, Außerirdische_!” a man plated with battered ADVENT trooper armor shouted. His heavy accent made it sound a lot more like, “aubergine! Aubergine!” He stood at the head of the column, hands wrapped around an ancient Mosin-Nagant.

“Heil Menschen!” one screamed in a reedy voice not yet broken by puberty. His partner threw out a wonky Nazi salute.

“If you so much as touch that Haven, we’ll kill you,” Bradford said, stopping ten meters from the Avenger’s ramp. In the corner of his eye, he could see the laser sight of Jung’s sniper rifle. 

The quintet also came to a stop. They stared at him blankly.

He repeated it in German. The Nazis looked confused. He repeated the statement in his best Ukrainian. They looked even more confused. Bradford briefly considered pointing at his gun, then at the Haven, then at them, but he didn’t want any more confusion. He settled for telling them in Russian.

That got some indignant protests. One of them menaced Bradford with his rifle, his finger still on the trigger. Bradford noticed it was bolt-action, and the boy had still not cleared the chamber. Trigger-happy and an idiot. Match made in heaven.

“ _We come in the glory of the Fourth Reich!”_ shouted the one who sported the poorly drawn swastika. “ _Do you march for our Führer?”_

Bradford rolled his eyes. _“I'm from a giant space ship. What do you think? Stop bothering the Haven, then we’ll talk.”_

“ _They are unclean!”_ the one in assorted Trooper armor proclaimed. “ _Rats, vermin, polluting our bloodlines and stealing our women!_ ”

“ _They chose not to be part of your group. Leave them be. What are your names?”_ he asked, resigning himself to a long, painful conversation with Nazi wannabes.

The one in Trooper armor declared himself Leskiv; Boikov wore the kindergartener’s rendition of a swastika; Kryvonis was the saluter; Dzera had a Viper skin belt and terrible trigger discipline; and Pavliuk, who had yet to speak, sported an AK-47 that had seen better days. From their boasting, Bradford learned they were sons of Russian soldiers who had fought on the Ukrainian border. When the aliens cut off the supply chains, the soldiers had taken new wives from the nearby villages. All the lead from previous engagements had left the ground in Donetsk barren, and whatever did grow poisoned whoever ate it. Their parents had joined forces with the Neo-Nazis that sprung up like weeds in the ruins of the old world. These teenagers hadn’t yet earned their red armbands, and so had been chosen to investigate the alien ship. Judging by their lack of discipline, it was probably a ploy by their leaders to get them killed.

Ohuruogu appeared in the periphery of his vision. “Sir, we’ve got gunfire at the Haven! They’re requesting immediate aid!” Her voice crackled over his headset. “We’re coming around your side. Shen doesn’t want a Nazi throwing a grenade into the Hangar.”

“ _We have some soldiers coming around_ ,” Bradford told the group. “ _We don’t need to fight. Back off, stop attacking the Haven, and you get to go free._ ”

“ _What is the chimp doing with you?”_ Dzera sneered as the Ranger appeared, leading her troop of soldiers. “ _Are you a zoo?_ ”

“ _We have a spaceship, what are you doing?”_ Bradford snapped to his soldier’s defense, “ _groveling in the mud, shooting innocent civilians?_ ”

“Then we join you,” Leskiv said in broken English, “Fourth Reich to the stars!”

“ _Leave now_ ,” Bradford said. “ _You’re still young. Find something worth fighting for that doesn’t hurt your fellow men.”_

Dzera bristled, and lifted his rifle. _“The purity of our blood–“_

 _“Your leaders sent you to die,”_ Bradford told the young man flatly. “ _Your gun’s jammed, Dzera. Fire that and it’ll blow up in your face."_

Boikov nudged the other man. “ _Told you so_.” 

“ _Shut up!”_ Dzera stamped on his comrade’s foot. Boikov yelped and hopped away.

The regret swirling in Bradford’s gut solidified into something hard and bitter. Here were teenagers, still pimply and gangly, who should have been goofing around on the Internet, sneaking sips of whiskey from the cabinet, and trading shy kisses with a new girlfriend behind the school. Instead, they were touting guns and poisonous words for people who didn’t give two shits about them.

“ _One last chance,”_ Bradford told the group. “ _Go home. Or I fire.”_

 _“There’s five of us, race traitor,”_ Pavliuk said, and in his eyes Bradford could see the bitter pill had spread its cancer into his mind. He would toe the Nazi line, even if his friends did not. “ _They might miss. I won’t_.”

Bradford pointed to the top of the Avenger, where the slim barrel of a Gauss rifle was aimed between Pavliuk’s cow-brown eyes.

“ _Our weapons would shred you in seconds. Find something better to die for.”_

The teenagers huddled together. Bradford gleaned a few snippets of their conversation: Pavliuk was adamant that their group could take him. Bradford’s grip tightened on his rifle. Dzera did not want to die. Pavliuk called him a coward and accused him of lacking faith in the Nazis’ ideals. Leskiv wanted to confront their leaders. “ _They are humans, and mostly white,”_ he said. “ _They can deal with the animals on their own time. Why were we sent out here?”_ Kryvonis broke up the fight brewing between Pavliuk and Dzera, and suggested striking it out on their own. Boikov wanted to go after the Haven, a far easier target, to gain his red armband.

“ _Remember_ ,” Bradford said, keeping a firm grip on his rifle, “ _you go after the Haven, and we go after you_.”

In the distance, he heard the pop and crackle of XCOM’s Gauss guns.

The group simultaneously blanched. Leskiv made the final decision. He signaled to the group with a pseudo-military hand gesture. 

“ _You live today, because our Führer demands we live for the motherland!_ ” Leskiv declared. “ _Come back, and we will not be as merciful! We march back!_ ”

“Heil the Führer!” Boikov shouted as the group of bandits left.

Bradford kept a careful eye on them until they disappeared into the horizon. After that, he tracked them with a GREMLIN borrowed from Shen. The quintet seemed in no hurry to approach the fight brewing near the Haven.

“Do they not remember the Eastern Front?” Bradford shook his head, then touched his headset. “Commander, got updates on the Nazis. How’s the sitch with Menace Team?”

 

* * *

 

“1-1, do you have eyes on the group?” Mu Lan asked. “There is one tanned adult male, one white adult male, six children – three black, two tan, one white – and they should be carrying baskets.” 

“Is that racist to focus on their skins?” Appelo wondered as the team crept into the forest. “They have names.”

“I don’t think there’s Roma on Blake’s world,” Langlade reminded him.

“And you can be South African, but white,” Braun said helpfully. Mu Lan made a noise. “Uh, no sir. Don’t see–“

 A gunshot split the air. Blake ran towards the sound, her Faunus ears focusing in on the echoes.

“RUN!” a deep voice bellowed across the hills. “GRADY, TAKE THE KIDS AND RUN!" 

“Razon, no!”

A black man came bolting towards them, a camel-skinned boy bleeding from the waist dangling precariously in his arms. The man’s dark face lit up as he caught sight of the Menace Team. He dropped the boy, and turned back. Gunfire filled the air. Children screamed. 

“XCOM! They’re in the trees!” he shouted. “I’m Razon, I’ll draw them off!”

Mu Lan gave out orders: Blake needed to scout ahead and secure the children, Braun was to draw off the attackers, Langlade would stabilize the injured and Appelo would gun down those who threatened her.

The Cat Faunus joined Razon in his run back to the foraging party. Children screamed, shrill and hoarse among the cracks of gunshots. The earplugs protecting Blake’s human ears flexed to absorb the blow, but her cat ears shuddered at the noise. The duo came to a clearing among weeping pines and shuddering willows. Strawberries lay trampled in the dirt, oozing thick red syrup that blended seamlessly into the blood and guts splattered into the weeds. Some of the bandits – identifiable by red armbands with a strange square symbol on a white background – already lay dead on the ground. Their living compatriots aimed up into the trees, missed shots shredding bark and skin.

One boy quivered on his branch. He locked eyes with the Cat Faunus.

“He’s going to fall!” Blake warned Razon.

“I’ll get him. Grady, move!” he shouted to the tanned man hoisting a young boy further into the trees. “XCOM’s here!”

The boy fell. Razon dove to catch him. Blake brought up Gambol Shroud and shot the heads of three unwitting bandits. But she did not catch the fourth, who raised his gun and shot Razon in the back.

Razon went silent. The boy rolled out from beneath him.

“Appelo, is the area secured?” Mu Lan asked. “I need you to gun down the bandits on 1-1’s tail.”

“On it!” the Specialist responded.

 

One of the black-suited soldiers ran over and cracked the butt of his rifle over the boy’s knee. The boy screamed and writhed in the grass. He brought out some rope and pinned down the crying child.

Blake thought about sending Gambol Shroud’s cleaver swinging through the air, but she didn’t. It could hit the child. She switched Gambol Shroud into gun mode and pinned down the soldier with her fire.

“Braun, do you have contact?” Mu Lan asked.

Magnetically flung shards sung through the air. The soldier collapsed, sprawling away from his victims.

“Good riddance,” the sniper said.

Her sensitive Faunus ears picked up the approach of two more men, these ones abandoning their harassment of the girls up in the trees. Blake summoned her Aura and expelled it through her body. A Shadow clone burst from her skin and ran straight towards the bandits. Her clone battered one man, slamming him into the trees. She summoned two more clones as she raced towards the remaining Nazi. Her Shadow could take care of that attacker. The other ran into the thicker parts of the forest, drawing her target’s attention away and wasting his bullets.

Blake brought Gambol Shroud high above her head. She felt her momentum pull her hood back, exposing her ears to the world. The bandit turned, his gun clicking as it ran dry. His eyes widened, drawn as if by a magnet to her ears. Contempt and hatred vanished from eyes the color of a rainy sky. Here was a fear that had long slept in this man’s brain, a fear awoken by something as primal as the two black cat ears sitting neatly on Blake’s head.

“Monster,” he whispered.

Gambol Shroud smacked through the soldier’s armor. Blake stared in horror – a Remnant human with an unlocked Aura would have withstood the blow, but the man tore apart like wet tissue paper under her blade. Intestines spilled onto the ground, grey-pink ropes spraying their greenish gunk onto Blake’s armor. Hot blood painted her face and cat ears.

The man’s eyes kept moving, widening with a ceaseless scream. He tried to speak, but the air whistled through ruptured lungs. His arm moved up to his fallen gun, but the effort was too much.

Blake couldn’t watch anymore. She turned away. She had killed before, yes, but Remnant humans were sturdier than this. She had cleaved ADVENT troopers in two, but their full-face armor prevented her from seeing their dying throes. Why was this man’s death affecting her so?

Deep inside, she felt the reverberations of his last word. _Monster._

What was it worth from a man who would happily shoot at children?

“Blake,” Mu Lan said gently. “Finish the job. Don’t let him shoot you.”

The Cat Faunus brought out the pistol from her belt. Mu Lan had ordered her to keep it just in case Gambol Shroud wasn’t enough. 

She turned just enough to keep the man in the corner of her eye, and shot. Something squishy flew into the craggy bark of the weeping pines.

“The AO is clear,” Central said, suddenly appearing the Menace Team’s channel. “Good job, men. We’re sending a team to recover the survivors. Sit tight.”

 

Blake felt like she was floating as she regrouped with the Menace Team. She barely heard the cries of the children as they shimmied their way back to the ground. At some point, she was standing over Razon’s body, and Odinson was shaking his head and covering the corpse with a ragged woolen blanket.

“Here, here,” Grady scooped up a crying girl and foisted her into Langlade’s arms, “you’re gonna see your mom again, Tsura, you’re gonna go home, it’s gonna be okay–“

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Blake whirled around, Gambol Shroud sliding off her back into her hand. She felt fire, and bowed her head. If Yang had been a terrestrial human, and if Blake hadn’t been so careful with her weapon…

“Blake?” her girlfriend asked. Yang lowered a flesh and blood right arm. “Hey, Blakey. It’s me. You okay?”

The Cat Faunus wordlessly shook her head.

Her partner wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and guided her away from the bloodied clearing.

The smell of strawberries hung above the sickly sweet scent of freshly spilled blood. Blake dropped to her knees, and threw up. 

 

* * *

 

“–this news comes at a terrible time. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Santos,” Bradford said.

The Asian woman took one look at her husband – made pale by death’s embrace, but arranged as if he were sleeping – and let out a terrible wail. “Not only my mom,” she screamed, “my sister, and my nephews, but Razon too?” She felt her belly, and the loss on her face intensified. “And – oh my God, no, no, I… just when I lost, I was going to tell – oh, Razon, Razon,” she sobbed, “will you look after our baby? Could God not, no, no, I shouldn’t curse His name–“

The Commander supported the woman as she sank to the ground. His superior murmured to Mrs. Santos and stroked her hair. Bradford was suddenly very grateful that the rest of the Santos children were currently listening to Adler exercising his mechanical arm by holding a puppet show.

Santos’s eldest daughter, Maria, took one look at her father’s body. She looked at the rebar reinforcing the cave: the Nazis had attempted to breach the cave with old ordinances, but XCOM’s engineering had withstood the test. Her eyes went to the assault rifle sitting in the crook of Bradford’s back. The young lady stood straight. “I can hold a gun,” she stated. “Let me join you. I’m going to make those bastards pay.”

“Maria!” Chantara gasped and clung to the Commander. “Please, _noo_ , don’t leave your mama behind too–“

“I’m not a little mouse anymore, mama,” Maria said. She looked at Bradford. “You shouldn’t like a rat in these caves. I can’t watch my brother and sisters fear for their lives. Let me join you.”

The Commander guided Chantara over to Razon’s body. The woman threw herself over her husband and clutched him tightly. Soon, the Haven would bury him at the base of a cherry tree. The Nazis would not fare half as well: after bits of flesh were stripped off to bait traps for fish and rats, they would be thrown in a pit, and their ashes would feed the vegetable plots growing outside the Haven.

Bradford shared a look with his Commander. She shook her head.

“We need you here,” Bradford said.

Maria stared. “What? But you’re recruiting!”

“Your father died today. That’s one more gun your haven is lacking,” Bradford said. “He needs someone to take his place. You’re a good shot. What if the bandits come back?”

“I can do more out there,” the young woman declared. “If I take down ADVENT once and for all, my family will live free. And dad wouldn’t have died in vain!”

“What good is that if your family is lost?” the Commander asked softly. She stood, dusting off her slacks. “We can train you to make a better soldier out of you. But we need you here. Protecting your family.”

Chantara’s wails had died down. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Bradford glanced meaningfully in her direction.

Maria balled up her fists, then sighed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She went to her mother and wrapped her arms around the greying woman. “Mama. You’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”

The Command duo stood back as the rest of the Santos family trickled in. As their mourning grew louder, Bradford motioned for them to exit the room.

 

For a few moments, they walked down the corridor in silence. Bradford’s boots slapped against the cold stone. One of the Haven’s guards had woven mats out of dried grass, to keep the children from slipping, but it barely muffled the sound.

“I’ll get Odinson on coms with HQ once we get back,” Bradford said, as they approached a junction in the tunnels. Cracks spider-webbed through the cement walls, but they had held. “If something happens to HQ, we’re ready to move here.”

“Is there a doctor at HQ?” the Commander asked. “A medical one.” 

“There’s a nurse,” he replied. “You’re thinking about Chantara?”

“Yes.” His superior heaved a sigh. “If only we had won the war.”

Bradford had no words. He settled for wrapping a hand around the Commander’s wrist. After a moment, she squeezed back.

“Let’s get to work,” she said. “Make sure this Haven is armed with Gauss guns.”

 

* * *

 

“All right, spill,” Yang said, setting out the thick woolen blanket. The bonfire blazed in the distance. “I turned off my coms for fifteen minutes, so we won’t have any spies.”

Blake lay down and stared up at the stars. Different ones called the skies of Remnant home. The moon here was even more foreign, as it was a fat semi-circle that floated whole in the heavens. Remnant's shattered moon glared down at the surface. This moon seemed more placid, almost welcoming. She could almost see a rabbit posed in the craters on its face. 

“They’re so squishy here,” she said. “Monster, he called me.”

“Uh…”

“The man I killed called me a monster.” Blake let out a choked laugh. “Any in his place would say the same.” She held out a hand, then made a claw. “I think this is what the Grimm feel like. It was so effortless to cut him in two. And I…”

“Whoa, whoa.” The firebird stroked Blake’s cheek. “It’s war, Blakey. You’re not a monster. He was going to kill that kid.”

“You watched the tapes,” Blake said.

“I watched enough to know that he was scared.” Her girlfriend laced her fingers between Blake’s fingers. “I don’t know a lot about him. But aren’t we all scared of death? He probably just lashed out at you.”

“Probably.”

Yang propped herself up on an elbow. “You’re not a monster, Blakey. We’ve both seen enough to know one.”

Blake felt a phantom cold go through her gut. She stared up at Yang’s lavender eyes, and the far-off flames that danced in those irises. She felt a sudden need for heat and life, one she found fulfilled in Yang’s arms.

“Cold?” Yang asked.

The Faunus nodded. She stroked the golden locks away from Yang’s face.

“It’s a good thing we’re off the oxygen tanks,” she said lightly. “It hides too much of your beautiful face.” 

Yang cracked a smile. “Paww, that’s so cute.”

Blake rolled her eyes. “Moment gone.”

Yang laughed. She closed her eyes, and leaned in.

It wasn’t a picture perfect kiss, even with the stars swirling above the duo and warmth of the woolen blanket on Blake’s back. There were too many teeth clipping against her lip, and guilt still clawed at her heart, and maybe there was a beetle crawling over Blake’s foot, but she concentrated on the heat and love that shone from her firebird.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This chapter was badly timed, considering it goes up in the wake of Charlottestown. For all the bad that is still committed, people are still fighting. 
> 
> I've tried to include less formatting this time to finally get this chapter up. AO3 is not happy with my use of its formatting.


	29. Mirzam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Beta Canis Majoris is the star's Bayer designation. The traditional names Mirzam, Al-Murzim or Murzim, derive from the Arabic (مرزم) for 'The Herald'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calm before the storm.

“-from all you’ve told me, I’m wondering why your XCOM hasn’t tried to kill their ‘Commander,’” Vincent made air quotes around the word, “yet.” 

“Look. Odinson wants to call his daughter for her birthday.” Bradford inhaled. “Can you give him at least ten minutes with Heidi and Julia? He’s putting his life on the line for them. It’s the least I can do for him.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “You’re doing all this just to give a dad some time with his kid? You’ll give the secrets of the Blacksite to us for this?" 

Bradford stared his friend down. “We at XCOM value our soldiers.” 

Vincent rolled his eyes. “You’re still not getting that supply drop. Go get Koll.”

XCOM’s Central Officer stepped out of the Resistance Coms facility. Odinson waited outside, jittering as he danced in place.

“Strap in. You’ve got at least ten min–“ Odinson darted past him before Bradford could get in another word. The Central Officer shook his head and began the walk up to the Bridge. It would be harder to track the transmission if the Avenger was moving. Besides, XCOM needed to follow the trail of the mysterious scientist’s coordinates.

 

According to the satellite data stolen from ADVENT, the coordinates were in some abandoned corner of Georgia shielded by the mountains. Though his shift was due to end in fifteen minutes, Bradford had elected to stay awake. 

The shadows around the Bridge leered at Bradford. Whispers of, “ _it’s a trap, she went rogue, you trusted her and loved her, and she threw it away_ ,” echoed in his head. Bradford’s inner monologue was apparently a drama queen.

The Commander had sent out Rose as insurance against the Grimm on this expedition. XCOM hadn’t seen the black monsters since the Blacksite, but they had no way of knowing the extent of the infection. The young girl didn’t seem bothered by the possibility of walking into a death trap. Rose bounced up and down on her heels as she trailed after the four-man investigative team, effortlessly balancing the massive scythe on her back.

“Got an eye on ruins. Looks like some kind of jail.” The shovels on Kelly’s back clanked against her machete. “Not even ADVENT jail. It’s old world.”

“How can you tell?” Braun asked. 

“You see red and black anywhere? It’s just a mound of stone.” Teuku dug the butt of his grenade launcher into the ground as he trudged up a small incline of soft sand. The dry dirt hissed beneath his heels. “Don’t see why we need a team of four out here. I’m supposed to be reading Urist a story….”

“In case of ambush,” the Commander said. “For all your teasing, I happen to like you four alive. Rose, you're my favorite clearly.”

"Aww, thanks Commander," Rose said as she skipped up the slope. "I knew all those fairy tales were good for something."

"This is favoritism and clearly breaks one of XCOM's non-existent rules," Braun said. "My feelings are hurt now, Commander."

"You'll get better weapons when Shen finishes researching them," the Commander says. "Or one of the weapon mods when we find them."

"Stop inciting division among our men," Bradford grumbled, but there was no heat to his voice. "Any heat signatures?"

"Nope," Teuku said, "as cold as the grave."

“Well, X marks the spot!” Rose pointed at a cairn of stones a few meters away from the ruins. “That should be it, right?”

“There should be a tree…” the Commander murmured. Bradford side-eyed his superior, but analyzed the video feeds for signs of recent human activity. The grass was tall and lush: it was unlikely that anyone had passed by recently. “Look around.” The levity dropped from her voice. “It might not be that obvious.”

On Teuku’s video feed, Bradford watched Kelly’s brow scrunch up. “There’s literally nothing else around,” Kelly pointed at the cairn, “and a big fat X there.”

“Rose, use your borrowed GREMLIN to scan the site,” Bradford ordered.

“Yessir!” the girl chirped. “So… uh, let’s see… I press this thing here…”

Kelly persisted. “Commander, we really should dig it up.” She knelt and brushed away some of the loose dirt from one of the bigger stones. “Look, this was recently disturbed. Someone put something down here.”

“It’s not explosives.” Bradford dug into his intelligence analyst days. “One dark, diffuse lump and three metal things in the soil. Two guns. Can’t tell the third.”

“If you dig six feet deep, you will find the bones of a 36-year old man. He is wearing a leather jacket, a scarlet polo, and jeans.” The Commander’s nails dug white crescents into the back of her hand. “An AK-47 and a Makarov lie above his chest.” Her voice shook. “Do you really need to disturb him?” 

Bradford winced. That explained her reticence. It was the grave of a friend, and XCOM’s mysterious scientist had sent the Commander back here. It made sense. People had a tendency to visit the graves of their lost. It was the best chance of sending a message when radio had long since failed to be secure or reliable.

“Kelly, maybe it’s not in the grave, but around…” Teuku said.

“Mu Lan, I’m not a super smart tactician,” Rose said shyly, “but I don’t think Evelyn would’ve sent us all the way out here if it wasn’t important.”

“Any step towards kicking ADVENT off our planet is a good one!” Kelly said. “Who knows what we could find? Central wouldn’t have sent us out here for nothing.”

The Commander was silent.

“Sir…” Bradford set a cautious hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shake him off. “I don’t know who that man was, but doesn’t he deserve to rest on a free Earth?”

“Hang on, Tangent, I found something.” Braun scraped the dirt off a steel cylinder. He uncapped it, revealing a rolled up sheet of paper. “It’s a message from someone called Vahlen!"

“Read it out,” Bradford said. His pulse quickened. Vahlen was alive. He wondered if the voices in his head were prescient, and if it was time to stop drinking.

“Must’ve been written in a hurry. I can hardly read it. Uh… let’s see… _Commander: Hazurov has told me that you visit this grave frequently. I have buried something here, three feet deep, and hope it will be safe from ADVENT,_ ” Braun read. _“If we never meet again, may this serve XCOM well. I hope you will one day forgive me. Dr. M. Vahlen, MD, XCOM.”_ Braun coughed. “There’s also a drawing of a peach. At least, I think it is. It’s kind of a shitty one.”

“Everyone except Braun and Kelly, stand back at least 25 meters away. Rose, stand by to shoot. Kelly, start digging. If you hit anything metallic, everyone runs,” the Commander ordered. She switched off her mike and looked at Bradford. “I don’t know what Vahlen is playing at. If she’s switched sides…”

“Worried some dead guy’ll pop up?” Teuku joked weakly as Kelly planted her shovel in the sandy earth.

“Hey! Don’t be mean.” Rose kept Crescent Rose trained on the growing hole.

“There’s no such thing as zombies,” Braun muttered, “no such thing as zombies.”

“The Blacksite said otherwise,” Kelly said darkly.

Bradford turned his mike on. “We don’t know how long this has been out here. ADVENT could have booby-trapped it, but I don’t see anything on the scans.”

Within a few tense minutes, Kelly and Braun had carved out a shallow trench three feet deep. They unearthed a package wrapped in a dark plastic bag, with _Zeiss_ written in silver along the opening.

“A bunch of data sticks,” Kelly reported, carefully probing the package with her shovel’s blade. “There’s also a green sweater in a clear plastic bag.”

“Underwhelming,” Teuku said, evident relief welling up in his voice. “We could at least have had a zombie. We came all the way out here for this?”

Braun’s shovel smashed through something white in the dirt. It cracked: bone that had long since dried, judging by the pearly white fragments that sprayed into the air, was too fragile to withstand the strong Sharpshooter’s blow.

“Holy shit!” Braun dropped onto his knees and scrabbled through the dirt. “There’s a bunch of Viper skulls here! They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before! Look at the fangs on these things!”

“There’s something shiny in there,” Rose said, standing up on her tiptoes, “oh, ew! Does anyone smell that?”

Kelly gagged as her next foray into the dirt came up with rotten slush. From the dark, sludgy-textured flesh, strips of pale blue Viper skin dangled into the air. Ever the soldier, Kelly kept digging, until she unearthed what seemed to be the remains of a Viper’s lower body, starting from the mid torso. But there was no upper torso, and the bones that glimmered in the sea of putrid flesh were made of shiny titanium. Finally, a squat tank like a scuba diver’s air tank emerged, but that too was empty.

The Commander’s face grew dark. “Vahlen had better provide some answers,” she said. Bradford nodded his assent.

 

* * *

Weiss shifted uncomfortably as Tygan finished reading her report. The unease shifting within her gut only intensified when Tygan did not start speaking, but instead poured her a cup of coffee and slid it across his desk.

“We have some… Grimm essence in the freezer–“

“Not anymore,” Weiss said. “I checked. It evaporated, like all Grimm matter does.”

“Then we cannot test your theory.” Tygan’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “I commend your efforts, but your conclusions… Have you any science background?”

“Well… I know about Dust processing.” Weiss forced herself to look the doctor in the eyes. “I had to, to further master its use. But I was a Huntress, and I mainly knew Dust through its applications.”

“Ah. That would explain things. You have a sample size of one.” Tygan sat back in his chair, trying to get comfortable in the close quarters of his room. “Many, many things could have occurred to trigger Dust formation. A sample of one is never sufficient to form a conclusion.”

“Well, most mines in Remnant are in dangerous locations,” Weiss stated, “and the process of mining did kill many. My family never tried to collect the bodies, citing that the process could cost more lives than it was worth. I thought that in the facility here, the Grimm infection was enough to trigger Dust formation.”

“Did you ever travel back to a battlefield and find Dust there?”

Weiss hesitated. “Not that I recall.”

“Could there be a confounding factor?” Tygan asked, steepling his fingers.

Weiss blinked.

Tygan spread his hands. “When ice cream sales go up, crime goes up as well. Is ice cream responsible for the rise in crime?”

“No? At least, I don’t think so,” Weiss said. “Then again, there was this ice cream-themed maniac running around Remnant, and I am very certain she was responsible for at least half the murders committed.”

Tygan hid a smile behind his cup of coffee. Weiss briefly thought to Ozpin, long since lost at the fall of Beacon. “It’s heat. When it is hot, people buy more ice cream. They also congregate in larger areas, making it easier for pickpockets to select a target. I believe you are missing a factor here.” He opened a tin and gave her a piece of the hardtack that passed for cookies onboard. “Do not be so quick to blame yourself, Schnee. Take what you have learned, and apply it.”

“Weiss,” she found herself saying, as she dipped the cookie into her coffee, “Schnee belongs to my family.”

Tygan dipped his head. “Weiss. Part of being a scientist is recognizing your biases and experimental error. You have many understandable influences that affect how you think. We all do. In science, we must break things down to their components, and find the ultimate cues responsible.” He passed her a thin bound notebook, its cover splattered in black and white. “I suggest you write down your observations and guesses on paper. It has always helped me to organize my thoughts. Write down everything, and you may find a pattern that leads you to the answer.”

Weiss flipped through the book. She knew Tygan did not mean to cause her any discomfort. Still, the fact that they were having this conversation made her want to hide away in her bunk. There were many hopes riding on her shoulders. She was the best suited of all Remnant operatives to perform this duty. She needed to be better, and yet she wasn’t. An ADVENT soldier had appeared, possibly with the ability to manipulate Aura. Weiss had seen Chief Shen’s report, and she doubted a mere terrestrial tracer round could have set Remnant armor aflame. How many lives would be lost before she found the solution?

“I could ask Central to move you to the combat roster,” Tygan suggested, “if you believe you would serve better there.”

Weiss steeled herself. Her father had not broken her. The daunting task ahead would not bend her. A thought struck her – if the creation of Dust through Grimm infection of bodies was impossible, then perhaps her family was innocent in this one case.

“Thank you, Dr. Tygan.” Weiss finished her coffee. “I’ve got a lot to think about.”

“Do you have a plan?” the doctor asked, not unkindly.

Ideas whirled around Weiss’s head. Yes. Plans. She was good at those.

 

“Weiss?”

The former heiress turned. Blake stood in the shadows of the corridor leading to the labs, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“I owe you an apology,” Blake said. “I shouldn’t have run out on you. Your company’s… actions aren’t necessarily your decisions. I judged you based on the actions of a few. I’m guilty of the exact same thing people used to hate the Faunus. And I’m sorry.”

Weiss let out a choked laugh and raced to hug her friend. “It’s okay,” she said breathlessly, “I jumped to conclusions. I don’t have enough data. I need to do more, I need to write more, but I will be better, and I will solve this somehow.”

The two friends stayed there, hugging each other. Weiss closed her eyes. _I will do better. I will do right by you._

 

* * *

“ _We’re sorry, the customer you are calling is not available at this time_ ,” Volk said in Russian. “ _Please try again._ ” 

“Really fucking funny, Volk.” Bradford massaged his forehead. What was it with men whose names started with V and general fucktardiness? “I risk giving away the Avenger’s position, created three new supply lines just to give you these communicators, and this is the thanks I get?”

“ _You have 5 dollars, thirty five US cents,_ ” Volk continued, his shit-eating grin only growing on the Comms screen. “ _You can continue to call for–_ “

“Volk, I swear to God, I will reach through this screen and kick your ass with your own foot unless you cut this shit out.”

“Be that way.” Volk returned to English. The tent flap behind him flapped in the wind, but Shen’s filters cut out the white noise. “We’re on the road to this nuclear base you said. Should be two weeks more of travel. ADVENT’s been quiet. Been harder to rob their trains.” The man’s cocky grin faded. “A storm’s brewing, John. I don’t know what you did, but they’re going to hit hard. I wonder if you’re ready.”

“We’re preparing magnetic rifles for you,” Bradford said, pulling up the manifest lists. There were other Resistance factions roaming around in the apocalypse: the Templars, the Skirmishers, the Guardians, the Fire Axis… but so far, none had joined XCOM’s crusade. “You should be prepared as well.”

“We don’t need the aliens’ tech.” Volk scoffed. “We Reapers will survive, human to the last. Is there anything else?”

“If you get there, secure it and don’t touch anything. The elephant might still be awake.”

Volk threw away the entire point of being secretive by saying, “I’m not going to Chernobyl the place, John. Volk out.” 

The Central Officer rubbed his forehead. Whiskey was more of a dinner thing, but if the Resistance kept this up, it would replace beer as his morning drink.

 

The terminal chimed with the code from the Saudi Arabian Cell. Bradford compared the ciphers. In the months since his capture, it seemed that the EXALT operative had a change of heart.

“ _Inquisitors looked for pulses_ ,” he read out. “ _Like a heartbeat, psionics make a distinctive pattern that a trained user can recognize. I think when there’s enough psi users around, the pulses overlap, and it becomes difficult to distinguish who’s sending them out. Not certain, however. I’m not psionic myself._ ”

Bradford blew out a breath. Another wrench in XCOM’s plans. They would have to figure out a way to study Psionics without alerting ADVENT. He took out his tablet, and began searching through what remained of Dr. Shen’s old notes. They had mastered the use of Meld in the old world. Surely, something could be applied here.

 

* * *

“You finished the trials on the ADVENT corpses?” Tygan asked, setting aside his notebook. 

“It works,” Weiss said. She cut the exposed arm hanging out of the sheet before her, and summoned a Glyph. Slowly, the dead flesh knitted itself back together. “I’m not sure how I managed it on the first try, but I managed it for the next twenty… um, you may not want to open the Troopers drawer. It smells terrible in there. Anyways, I’d like to try it on a live subject before putting it into practice. I don’t know if it’s working because these ADVENT soldiers have Dust embedded in them.”

“So people without _souls_ cannot use Dust, but they can experience souls’ effects regardless.” Tygan hummed. “Have you written that observation down?”

“Of course,” Weiss said with a small smile, as she held up her lab notebook. Some of the pages were drenched in ADVENT blood. “How else will I be a scientist?”

“I think you’re right,” the doctor said as he covered up the Trooper’s corpse. “We are ready to begin live trials. Go see Dr. Fong, he will walk you through our live animal policy.”

 

“That’s a rat!”

“Yep, found him in the food storage. Central’s got a kill and cook policy for most pests, but he’s healthy enough to be a lab rat.” Fong twitched his fingers at Edel, who came up for pets. “Poor thing’s got no idea what’s waiting for him. As soon as we find him a girl, we’re gonna breed them for science.”

Edel’s eyes vibrated like he was possessed. The little rat began to grind his teeth, lower jaw moving back and forth. Weiss stepped back.

“Aww, look at him,” Fong cooed. “He’s so happy!”

“This is normal?”

“Happy rats do this. It’s called bruxing.” Fong scratched Edel behind the ears. “Used to have a satin rat before ADVENT banned pets. Are you a cutie? Are you a cutie?” Edel’s eyes popped in and out of their sockets. “Yes you are!” Fong held the rat out to Weiss. “Here, pet him behind the ears. He loves it. Don’t you? Oh yes you do!”

Weiss gingerly stuck her fingers through the wire mesh and scratched Edel behind the ears. The rat made a chirping noise, and bruxed like he was possessed by the world’s most terrifying demon.

“So that’s Edel, he’s the newest one,” Fong said. He pointed at the other cages in the clean room, all filled with at least two rats. “Those two are Splinter and April. That patchy one is Aragon, and his partner is Arwen. Those four are Alphonse, Edward, Winry and Mei. Don’t ask me why, I don’t name them,” he said, as Edel plopped onto his back. “Does someone want pets? I think _you_ do!”

Weiss repressed a bemused smile. “So… while’s Edel all alone?”

“You should keep rats in pairs,” Fong said, tickling Edel’s belly, “otherwise they get depressed. But Edel would get chewed up in their hierarchy. He’ll just have to wait a bit to find a friend.”

Weiss looked at the rat gamboling inside its cage. It scampered over the sawdust and went to the water bottle tied to the wire frame. The rat began to vigorously wash its face, squeaking all the while. She was not a fan of rats, but Edel could prove to be the exception.

“But I don’t want to hurt him.”

Fong shrugged. “Sorry, Schnee, but I doubt anyone’s going to let you cut them up to practice surgery.” He wiggled the remaining fingers on his hand. “I’ve donated enough for science. You have the table ready?”

Guilt gnawed at Weiss as she gave the affirmative.

“Out you go, little guy,” Fong said as he scooped Edel into his hands. The rat was large enough that he spilled over Fong’s cupped hands. “I’ll have him anesthetized and ready for you in ten minutes. Please treat him well,” Fong added, before he disappeared into the clean room, “he might just be a rat, but he deserves nice things in life.”

Ten minutes later, and garbed in an isolation suit that covered everything but her hands, Weiss stepped into the clean room. It appeared to double as a lab, but for what else, Weiss did not know. Edel lay on the table on a tray. A small cut neatly parting the skin of his back in two. His chest rose and fell in easy breaths, aided by the tiny mask glued to his snout. He looked small, and helpless. Weiss suddenly felt nauseous. What if she couldn’t heal the cut on his back? It was minor, just a parting of his skin, but Edel had no say in this matter. She became a Huntress to help those who could not help themselves.

Ruby’s face suddenly flashed in Weiss’s mind. She imagined her best friend, returning to the front lines, only to be carved apart by a bright green stream of plasma in ways that Dr. Tygan could not fix. But Remnant power could do things terrestrial beings could not.

“I’m sorry,” Weiss told the little creature. She raised her hands and summoned the Glyph. “I’m doing this for her. You’d do the same if you were me.”

 

* * *

Bradford passed through Engineering on his rounds before bed, a package carefully tucked underneath his arm instead of his typical heavy-duty flashlight. “Shen?” he called into the cavernous expanse. “How’s decoding going?”

“I’m plugging through it,” Shen said, raising her bleary head from her terminal. “It won’t take too long. I think she’s using Dad’s codes.”

Bradford hesitated. It sounded like Vahlen had wanted to help XCOM, but the Viper skulls and the remnants of the Viper’s tail, with titanium bones instead of ones made of calcium… he wondered if Vahlen was responsible for the Jurassic Park rampaging across the Irradiated Zone. It was a hell of a walk from the Middle East to nowhere, Georgia. Shen had reconstructed the Viper meat suit: apparently, there was space for two legs within the tail. Bradford knew the implication, but he didn’t want to think about it too deeply.

Did Vahlen really go full mad-scientist?

“Make sure to get some rest,” he said finally. “We don’t know if one of her monsters is prowling around.”

Shen gave him a thumb’s up, then returned to staring blankly at her terminal.

Bradford crossed Engineering to get to his final destination. He took the package wrapped in its plastic Zeiss bag, and gingerly slid out the faded wool sweater. He threw the sweater into the decontamination chamber, and closed the shade. Blue light leaked out from underneath as UV rays blasted the sweater, followed by a dose of intense heat.

Despite God knows how many years, it still smelled like Vahlen’s shampoo.

 

* * *

The soldiers were surprisingly cheery two days after D-Day, or Disgust Day, despite the discovery of the world’s worst forgotten lunch in the grave of a man who had died some twenty years prior. This was probably helped by Shen rolling out full sets of Plated Armor with the measurements for all serving aboard, and Schnee providing three sets of Remnant-reinforced armor for the brave – or, as their fellow soldiers referred to them, _the lab rats_.

“Gee, thanks,” Adler said, out of suicide watch for the first time in days. He flexed his mechanical arm constantly, still testing out its weight. He walked around in the Remnant suit. “Good to know you guys love me that much. This ain’t half bad, it’s really light.” He flexed his good arm. “Is that why you guys run around in dresses all the time?” he asked Rose.

“It’s a combat skirt,” Schnee said. Rose low-fived her partner.

“It catches on fire sometimes,” Jung said, trying not to scratch his fully-healed arms. Burn scars still swirled around his upper arms. “So yeah, there’s a fire extinguisher on the back if you need it.”

“All right, all right, let’s head to breakfast,” Bradford said, chivying the day shift towards the mess hall. “You can play with your toys later–“

The Commander appeared in the Living Quarters, Agreste stumbling behind her. “I said no, Agreste, please have some sense–“ she said as she walked.

Devgan’s head swiveled around. He pointed at Agreste, then at Bradford. “Santa Maria.”

Kelly elbowed Devgan. “You’re not Spanish. Whatcha–“ She turned, took one look at Bradford, and gaped. “Jesus Christ, Central! What the hell is on your head?”

“Hair. Like most humans.”

“Did you drown a raccoon and put it on your head?” Xiao Long asked. "When's the last time you showered?"

“Ah, that’s why his flying is shite,” Odinson mused. “It’s actually the raccoon controlling him.”

“I _cut_ my hair.” Bradford nodded at the major. “What about that wet haystack you call a ponytail?”

Odinson touched the thick braided queue that projected off his head. “I don’t look like a piece of moldy bread some hobo picked out of the trash.”

Yoshida looked up from her tablet. “I guess all those crayons congealed in your brain.”

The Commander let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please, Agreste, I understand your needs but I would also like you to not look like a car ran you over.” 

Bradford squinted at Agreste. “Is that a high and tight?”

“Kept getting in my face,” the former dentist complained. He blew a puff of air at the long forelock hanging over his eyebrow. “Kept cutting my forehead instead of this damn hair!”

“Aww, it’s just like Bradford’s hair! Only run through the shitter,” Teuku cackled.

Rose laughed and made a heart with her hands. “Aww, Central! You’ve got a fan!”

“That’s acceptable,” the Commander said, pointing at Bradford’s head. “That, on the other hand, is uneven.”

“Of course, sir. The worst crime of all, ignoring the genocide of several million humans,” Agreste said. “ _Asymmetricality_.”

The Commander sighed and pointed at one of the chairs. “Just sit down, and let me cut your hair.”

“This is peer pressure,” Agreste mumbled as he finally sat down. The technician’s long locks had been shorn back with what appeared to be a machete, as ragged ends fell over the sides of his head. “I try to be a new person and this is what I get.”

“And you will be a new person,” Bradford soothed. “Just… after you look a little less…”

“Hobo-y?” Xiao Long offered.

“You’re the best friend,” Agreste shot back.

 

The Commander set to work, and managed to salvage a crewcut from Agreste’s hair as the rest of the day shift ate breakfast. “I spent enough time passing as a man,” she muttered as she swept the clippings up from the Living Quarters’ floor. “How did he never learn to cut his damn hair?” 

“Ready for the handover meeting, sir?” Bradford asked, careful to keep his voice low. The night shift had finally fallen asleep.

The Commander slid the clippings into the trash can, then set the pair of scissors and the apron on the coffee table. “Shen has news for us,” she whispered.

Over in the briefing room, Shen’s face showed nothing short of awe. “It’s… Vahlen has the blueprints for laser weapons. I’ve run the simulations. It should work. We can field laser weapons now, Central.”

“We did not have to do anything beyond decoding the plans,” Tygan agreed. “The mathematics work out. The physics as well. The laser weapons are similar to the ones fielded in the first invasion.”

“They sacrifice power for aim,” Shen continued, as she brought up a schematic drawn in Vahlen’s steady hand. There was a note scrawled in rushed English at the bottom of the blue paper. “If you point it in that thing’s general direction, you’re going to hit it. Only problem is that you won’t have enough power to kill it in two-three seconds. I think it’ll take at least ten seconds of steady fire.”

“Why is there a note asking for forgiveness?” Bradford asked, crossing his arms. “Sounds like she became more, _do things first, ask forgiveness later_.”

Tygan shrugged. “On your orders, Commander, we can build laser weapons. Or we could divert our resources to powered weapons.”

“Whatever we do,” Shen said, “we need to diversify our weapons. ADVENT is throwing up things to counter us. We’ll have to evolve to fight them back.”

“One or two could be useful,” the Commander agreed. “Is there anything else?”

Tygan cleared his throat, and shared a look with Shen.

The Chief Engineer stepped up to the briefing room’s screen, and pulled the schematic away. Instead, it showed a map of Eastern Europe, with a bright green point glowing not too far from the Avenger’s position, perhaps a hundred-fifty klicks away.

“We found a transponder with an old XCOM signal,” Shen said. “It was Big Sky’s.”

Bradford sat up in his seat. “A distress message?”

Shen turned a dial at the screen’s control panel. “It’s a weak signal. Open channel, no decryption.”

 _“-throughout the area–“_ a heavily distorted voice spouted some coordinates, _“-of particular concern- all attempts should be made…”_

“Is that… Vahlen?” Bradford asked, but he knew the answer. “Haven’t had any signs of her since we lost HQ. Look who decided to pop up now.”

That too was a lie, but he didn’t want to talk about the other failed XCOMs. Not now. Not when the wound was still rotten and putrid.

“Where do the coordinates lead?” the Commander asked.

Shen pulled up the Hologlobe’s data, then entered the numbers to show them on the world map. Bradford could feel the blood leaking from his face.

“The outskirts of the Irradiated Zone, in Jordan,” he said. “Where the Haven stopped communicating.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Bradford's hair is oddly plasticky in cutscenes, and it makes me very uncomfortable. I can't tell if his hair is gelled all the time, or supremely oily.


End file.
